Shake It Out
by ChristieOffTheWall
Summary: Quinn Fabray is the very popular, very mean queen of McKinley High and is dating the quarterback, Finn Hudson. The quiet Rachel Berry shouldn't even be a blip on her radar. And yet… Quinn's POV.
1. Harry Potter

**Title:**** Shake It Out**

**Pairing:**** Quinn/Rachel**

**Rating:**** T for swearing.**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Glee or any of the characters mentioned.**

**Description:**_**Q**_**uinn Fabray is the very popular, very mean queen of ****McKinley High and is dating the quarterback, Finn Hudson. The quiet Rachel Berry shouldn't even be a blip on her radar. And yet… Quinn's POV.**

**A/N: I am not a Finn fan and that will likely be projected onto this story. Quinn was also never pregnant.**

**Chapter One: Harry Potter**

Perfectly pressed McKinley High cheerleading uniform? Check. Blonde hair in a perfectly done up ponytail? Check. I carefully eye myself up and down in the mirror inspecting for flaws and ends up smirking due to my apparent perfection. It took me a long time to get there, though. Lucy sure as hell wasn't like this—

I refuse to indulge that thought, though. Forcing myself to think about today, where I am the sexy Quinn Fabray. Girls want to be me and guys want to be with me.

I smile with satisfaction at the sight of myself while silently brushing off my insecurities and repeating the mantra I've spoken to myself over and over for the past year: I am Quinn Fabray; Lucy Fabray is my past.

As if on cue with that particular train of thought, the sound of my popular, quarterback boyfriend honking in his truck from outside my window resonates throughout my room. I grab my messenger bag which digs lightly into my shoulder and exhale, getting myself in character: _I am Quinn Fabray_. With that, I run downstairs and am drawn into the kitchen with the smell of bacon.

My mother is in her typical cooking apron that cleverly states, "Trust in His work," with the T being a slanted cross. She's working busily at the stove, humming lightly while my father is reading a newspaper at the table and grumbling about the liberal agenda. It's all very 1960's housewife, in my opinion, but that's what it means to be a Fabray.

"Quinnie, would you like something for breakfast?" My mother looks at me with a warm smile while flipping my father's bacon, and he himself pays no attention to me at all.

"No thanks, mom, I'm just going to grab a granola bar. You know my stomach is sensitive in the morning," I give her a quick, appreciative kiss on the cheek after grabbing one from the pantry.

I open the bar on my way out and take a few bites before rushing out the front door for Finn.

"Hey babe, get in," Finn nods to me from inside his 1984 Ford F150 which he treats as an actual baby. He and Kurt's dad, Mr. Hummel, fixed it up together.

When I enter, I've finished the granola bar and am shoving the wrapper into the front pocket of my bag silently hoping there's no residual food in my teeth before Finn places his hand on my knee and leans over for a light kiss. _It honestly could be worse,_ I think—at first_._ His tongue dances inside my mouth, leaving a trail of drool along my lips and his hand is moving dangerously upwards on my thigh.

"Finn, stop," I pull away and shove his hand while wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. _Gross_. I've tried teaching him how to kiss better to no avail.

"Finn, we're in my driveway. My father is probably looking through a window seething at you right now. Cut it out," I grow out of frustration.

"Sorry, babe. You just look so hot today," Finn grins goofily. As far as compliments go, Finn is nowhere near the best at giving them. A compliment is a compliment though, so I smile and relax as he backs out of the driveway and we head to school.

There's nothing wrong with being head of the chastity club at school and not wanting to be touched immorally, I'm sure of it. I suffer through make out sessions every Friday night, but that's my girlfriend _duty_, of course. A small sacrifice, perhaps, for a much greater purpose. It's a proper Christian's duty to draw the line, and what a relief that line is for me.

Finn places his rough hand on my knee once more and asks rhetorically, "Quinn, we've been together for a couple months now, right?"

I nod at him stiffly, knowing he can't be going anywhere good with this. _Four months and three days of this, to be exact_.

"Well, you know, I love you and you love me, right?" He squeezes my knee and I have to refrain from yanking it away from him.

"Yes?" No, I don't believe in love.

"This Friday night we should show each other how much we love each other," he purrs and his hand slides up and down my thigh.

My fists clench in my lap and I have to hold my breath and count to ten in order to do an anger management exercise in an effort to prevent myself from saying something I'll regret.

1—2—3—4—5—6—7—8—What a jackass—9—10.

I exhale shakily and repeat myself very clearly for what very well may be the 101 time, "Finn, I told you that I'm not having sex until I get married."

"Yeah, but that's stupid because you love me. And I love you. So you should show me," he insists and when my jaw drops and I slap his hand off my knee rather violently, his hands go up in confusion.

Seething, I manage to choke out, "My religion is stupid to you?"

Although I will never tell Finn or perhaps anyone this, I'm not sure if religion is the actual reason why I don't want to have sex with him. I simply don't want to have sex, period, and religion is a very plausible excuse. I go to church every Sunday with my family, I'm head of the chastity club at school and I wear a diamond cross around my neck as a completion to my outfits daily.

"No, babe, it's not. I'm just saying that all the other guys on the team are getting some with girls they don't even care for. I love you and I can barely get to second base before you shove me off of you," Finn says angrily, eyeing my breasts out of the corner of his eyes.

"Those girls are hardly worth _half_ of me," I respond indignantly.

"Right, yeah, you're hot, but that doesn't mean we can't have sex," he counters.

"Finn, for the love of God, we're not having sex because _it's against m n_," I tell him furiously, drawing out every syllable.

As Finn pulls up through the entrance of the school, I have never been so relieved to see my girls, Santana and Brittany, waiting for me in their cheerleading uniforms next to the front entrance. I try to shove the car door open when Finn aggressively grabs and stops me.

"Think about it, yeah?" He asks me with his eyebrows raised and yanks my neck forward for a sloppy kiss.

"Finn, you're an asshole sometimes," I say and yank my bag in frustration, slamming the door behind me.

I approach San and Britt with anger rolling off of me, practically in visible waves. Others in the parking lot are smartly dodging me and that in it of itself makes me feel a _little_ bit better.

"What did Frankenteen do now, Q?" Santana says while glaring in the general direction of his truck.

"He tried to force you to have sex with him again, didn't he, Quinn?" Brittany says matter-of-factly from behind Santana while grabbing my hand.

"How did you know?" I ask her curiously, allowing some of my anger to dissipate.

"You only ever look this angry when he does," Brittany says with a shrug of her shoulders and releases my hand.

"My girl, so observant," Santana says and beams at Brittany who leans forward for a kiss that Santana denies.

"But San, I want my sweet lady kisses now," she pouts.

I roll my eyes at the interaction and focus on the crack in the cement at their feet.

"I promise, Brit-Brit, you just have to be patient and I'm all yours after school," San grins and whispers something seductively in her ear. The sheer intimacy of the moment forces my cheeks to flush and I cough in order to make them aware that I'm still _very much_ present. Brit is shamelessly grinning at me when they part.

"Do I need to go all Lima Heights on his ass, Q?" Santana says while wearing a fierce façade. It's kind of hard to take her seriously after seeing how gentle she is with Brittany.

Together, we turn to walk into the building and stop at my locker for my necessary books for the morning. I angrily begin explaining to them exactly what happened in Finn's truck, throwing books around with unnecessary roughness inside my locker.

"So I said to him—_Ow_!" I drop all the books I was holding due to being slammed into by a nerdy brunette, Rachel what's-her-name. _Today has just not started off well_. I send up a silent prayer to God for patience.

"Oh, shoot," Rachel looks up at me with an embarrassed flush on her face and fearful brown eyes. My eyes shift down towards the book Rachel was reading which caused her to walk headfirst into me: _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_. I snort and cock an eyebrow at her, noticing how my anger is strangely gone.

"Q—Quinn, I'm so sorry. I suppose I'm just too absorbed in this book for my own good. This is the third time I've read it, you know, and I love it more every time!" Rachel says shakily with a nervous laugh at the end, quickly bending over to start picking my fallen books up.

"Save it, I don't want your help or your man hands all over my books," I yank a book out of Rachel's hand and glare at her, which makes Rachel flinch and feed my power hungry ego. Rachel nods and swiftly walks back down the hall she had come from. _She's lucky I didn't say or do something worse_.

"God, Berry is such a dork," Santana crosses her arms at my side and together we watch Rachel scurry down the hall.

"Oh yeah, I guess that's her last name," I mumble to no one in particular.

"I think she's cute, San. I like berries and she's a life-sized one! I know I can't eat her though because you said I'm only allowed to eat you now that we're girlfriends," Brittany says and beams at Santana.

I blush at the unabashed reference to their sex life and it's this that makes me snap at my best friends.

"Can you, like, keep that to yourselves please? I can't have the school thinking that I'm hanging out with _lesbians_," I hiss at the term as though it's poisonous just in my mouth and my eyes nervously scan the hallway for the Jewfro who's always stalking our every move. He calls the three of us the Unholy Trinity, and really, I find an appreciation for the term and that reputation, despite the 'unholy' part of it all.

The guys in school believe that Brittany and Santana are now simply unattainable, perhaps even a conquest they try and fail at. If the guys were to find out the truth that Brittany and Santana were actually madly in love with one another—I shudder at the thought.

"Brit-Brit, what have we talked about? You can't say that stuff here," Santana whispers warily and her cheeks are flushed. Brittany merely nods and pouts at her. She really is adorable and she brings out the softer side of Santana.

Frankly, I think Santana's whipped and when she leaves a light kiss on Brit's cheek in an effort to cheer her up, I roll my eyes at the sight. I'm not used to such tender displays of affection, especially coming from the Santana I know and love, despite the occasional nickname of 'Satan'.

"Okay, enough. Knock it off. We have to get to class. You—yes, you. Pick up my books," I gesture to a random boy who is half my size and probably a freshman.

"Yes—yes Quinn," he rushes over awkwardly to pick them up and places them in my hands before standing at attention, waiting for my next order. I feel a twinge of guilt for exercising my power this way, but shake it off and completely ignore him. I know I'm a bitch but I also know life is better this way.

I push him aside with my shoulder and walk forward, knowing that Santana and Brittany are dutifully behind me with their pinkies linked. If I wasn't so terrified by the significance behind it, perhaps I'd find it sweet.

The student body parts for the 'Unholy Trinity' like the Red Sea and I look straight ahead without making eye contact with anyone. I made that mistake during one of the first few days I had become 'queen bee' and saw an overwhelming range of emotions displayed on everyone's faces. There was the number one emotion: envy. Then fear, lust, and hate. Not one person looked at me like they _loved_ me, or cared for me in anyway. Some girls looked like hungry wolves willing to do anything to take my place. But really, who needs love? I have power, and the best leaders are those that are feared rather than loved.

I'm beginning to feel as though love is a myth, as though being "in love" is something humans do to just to make reproduction and relationships feel like a happy _choice_. I'm not in love with Finn and know that because I know love can not exist. Judging by my parents, I just know it can't. Rather, I _appreciate_ Finn and together we are _McKinley High's power couple: head cheerleader with the quarterback; a match made in Heaven._

_Even if he annoys the shit out of me._

At the end of the hall, I spot Rachel Berry leaning up against the glass trophy case clutching her _Harry Potter _book to her chest. I unconsciously make eye contact with Rachel against my better judgment, out of a need to see what kind of emotion Rachel will display and whether it's one of the four emotions I've grown so accustomed to. Instead, when I lock on to Berry's brown eyes, I see nothing. Rachel stares straight back into my eyes unwaveringly and she displays no emotion whatsoever. I raise an eyebrow at her and turn with Brittany and Santana in tow down the next hallway.

I hear the previous hall return to it's normal business and volume now that the three of us are gone. I turn left into my English class and wave my friends off, who instead have Spanish first period.

I fix my eyes on the back wall to avoid eye contact with anyone and sit at my usual table towards the back, picking the chair closest to the wall. I fumble through my bag to take out my notebook and start doodling on the paper rather, deciding that's better than cringing from the looks of fear on the students who walk in and try to sit as far away from me as possible.

_At least Lucy had friends_. Fuck Lucy, her friends were losers.

I hear a thud on my table and feel the rush of air of someone sitting beside her. I look up from my fresh doodles to see none other than Rachel Berry sitting next to me with a notebook out and ready to take notes. Not only did she just risk sitting next to me but she's completely ignoring me. Not twenty minutes ago I was wondering what her last name was and now she's a recurring figure in my day. _This girl has guts_.

"Uh, excuse me?" I ask and look at her indignantly.

"Hello, Quinn," Rachel says softly without looking at me and causes my head to jerk back in surprise. Who the fuck does this girl think she is?

"Did I _say_ you can sit next to me?" I growl, shooting daggers at Rachel and when she finally turns to face me, she flinches like earlier in the hall.

"No, but there weren't any other chairs. I wasn't aware I had to ask permission," Rachel says and looks at me with wide, innocent eyes.

Wasn't—aware—permission—

"Do you know who I am, Rachel Berry?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at Rachel.

"Sure, you're Quinn Fabray. Most popular girl in school. Etc. Etc.," Rachel says with a dismissive wave of her hand in my direction, looking back down towards her notes with no interest in me.

"Damn right, I'm Quinn Fabray, and I can make your life miserable," I whisper sadistically.

"You already have," Rachel says quietly with a flash of hurt in her eyes.

My jaw unhinges as I recoil in shock and feel a pang of sadness for this girl. How did I hurt this girl? Before today I hardly ever noticed Rachel. My eyes narrow again and I carefully examine her for the first time.

If she wasn't so dorky she'd be kind of beautiful with her long and wavy brown hair, chocolate eyes and toned figure.

"Can you please stop staring at me? You're making it difficult for me to concentrate," Rachel says without looking up, but not without a blush on her cheeks.

Rachel then looks up at me with the same empty expression she was wearing earlier in the hallway. For the first time in a long time, I'm caught off guard and turn back down to my doodles, doing my best to ignore Rachel.

When the bell rings, Rachel's up and gone in a flash. I resolve in a matter of seconds to get revenge for Rachel's insubordination and grab my phone to shoot a few group messages to Santana and Brittany.

**Me**: We're getting Berry.

**San**:For bumping into you? You seemed cool about it this morning.

**Me**: Don't ask me why, just do it.

**Brit**: Now she'll really taste like berries!

I fight off a chuckle and shake my head, impatiently sitting through my next few uneventful classes before lunch. When I leave that final morning class for lunch, I'm practically running to my locker to get to the lunch room and witness the ruination of Rachel Berry. Finn is waiting for me next to my locker to walk me to lunch, which slows me down. He smiles as though nothing happened this morning and I can't help but feel like he's an idiot.

He puts an arm around my shoulders, slowly leading me into the cafeteria. My eyes dart to Santana and Brittany, San holding a Big Gulp from the Seven Eleven down the street. I'm overcome with anticipation coursing through my veins and know that this is it, that Rachel Berry will know what it really means to be miserable.

I stop moving and callously watch while Santana casually walks up to Berry in the line. The few people around her who were observant enough to eye the Slurpee, dropped their trays and bolted from the line in order to avoid being slushied by Santana.

"Babe? Food?" Finn is gesturing towards the line confused and doesn't understand why I've stopped moving. I frown and wave my hand dismissing him.

"Go ahead, I need a minute," I tell him without removing the lock I have on Berry.

Santana taps Rachel on the shoulder and she turns around quickly with a small smile on her face towards what she probably assumes is a friend.

_Wham_.

Santana chucks the grape Slurpee in her face and looks at her impassively before chucking the empty cup in the garbage and walking over to sit next to Brittany at my table.

Rachel slowly wipes the slush out of her eyes and shakes purple slush onto the floor, hardly looking shocked. I guess that Rachel's used to this kind of treatment.

Rachel quickly exits the line, whispering, "Excuse me," to everyone in her way. She quietly approaches where I'm still standing frozen to my spot, in order to exit the cafeteria. I cross my arms and look at Rachel with what I can only hope is my most intimidating expression. The whole room is silent; you could hear a pin drop.

"Move, please," Rachel mumbles.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you," I answer coldly without budging.

Rachel then looks up at me and finally, I see the familiar hatred in her eyes. I feel a mixture of relief and disappointment before tears begin welling up in them. Then I feel the same pang of pain she felt _for_ Rachel in their first period English class, but carefully cover it up.

"I am not your equal, do you understand?" I say quietly, but firmly.

Rachel says nothing and I finally step aside to let her leave before sighing and resolving to find my lunch table. _Well, that's the last I'll be dealing with Rachel Berry._ I sit down next to Finn who is shoveling mounds of food into his mouth, barely stopping to chew. _Repulsive,_ my mouth curls in disgust.

I reach over his mess and take a sip of his soda before stealing a French fry off his tray. It's exhausting being a terrible person. I feel eyes on me and look up to see Santana glaring at me.

"What?" I ask her, looking around at everyone at the table hoping for some kind of clue as to what's going on. Unfortunately, they're all staring very intently at their food.

"Why did you make me do that?" Santana asks me.

"Uh, you love slushying people?" I ask sarcastically.

"No, you know what I'm asking you. She didn't do anything to you. She even tried picking up your books this morning," Santana frowns.

"What the hell, Santana? You never have a problem with stuff like this. Why are you challenging me?" I ask aggressively. Santana is the only one allowed to challenge me, as she is my second in command.

"You may be queen of this place, but you are not _my_ queen. You're my _friend_. I think what you had me do today was uncalled for," Santana whispers and shakes her head in disapproval.

I feel as though I've been punched in the gut. I only did it because I learned it from Santana, after all. Haven't I felt guilty all day? It's hardly fair for Santana to be judging me when she has no idea how guilty I've felt all day. Then again, according to Santana, I don't _feel_.

A quick flash of Rachel covered in purple slush glaring at her hatefully with tears welling in her eyes occurs in my mind.

'_You are not my queen. You're my friend_' replays in my head before standing up to leave. I look down and frown at Santana, feeling anxiety taking over my body and knowing I have to leave.

"Santana, I did what I had to. That's that," I say and walk away from the table.

"Where are you going, babe?" Finn asks, food still in his mouth.

"Anywhere," I mumble. With a head held high I exit the cafeteria until I find the nearest empty room to escape into.

I lean up against the wall and start hyperventilating, sliding to the floor as memories of Lucy being bullied flood my mind.

Stop it, you're better than this.

_Lucy would have never treated people this way._

"Well, you're not pathetic Lucy anymore!" I shout to no one.

I close my eyes and keep seeing flashes of Rachel's grape soaked face and tear filled eyes. Why do Ieven care? I have people slushied everyday. I treat people like shit every damn day. What makes Berry any different? Maybe it's because she's so innocent; so much like I used to be, as Lucy.

I hesitate and pick my head up when I hear—something in the distance. Is that singing?

I pick myself up and open the door to an empty hallway, looking back and forth for the right direction that the voice appears to be coming from. I hear the loudness from the cafeteria, true, but I also hear something else as well coming from a different direction.

Wandering in search of the voice which is getting progressively louder, I realize then that it's coming from the auditorium straight ahead. Everyone should be in lunch right now, aside from Rachel and me, that is.

This voice is absolutely beautiful, flawless. I'm drawn to it and silently open the door to the auditorium, sliding through in an effort to go unnoticed. I sit in the very back of the room slouched in my seat and see there, standing before me on stage, Rachel Berry in her gym clothes with wet hair singing her heart out to an empty auditorium.

I unintentionally lean forward, my jaw unhinging completely at Rachel's her raw talent. I can feel Rachel's pain while she sings and the emotion coming off of her in waves. She has me mesmerized, completely.

I know the song that Rachel is singing, as it's a personal favorite of mine. Rachel's voice adds a unique touch and I find that I like Rachel's version of _Shake It Out_ by Florence + the Machine far more than the original. _I never want her to stop singing_.

Quiet, little Rachel can belt out something so incredibly moving and big and I think she's beautiful, really.

_And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't.  
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road.  
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope,_

_it's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat.  
'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me;  
looking for heaven, found the devil in me.  
Well, what the hell, I'm gonna let it happen to me.  
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa.  
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa.  
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back,  
so shake him off._

She breaks off at the end of the song and the silence left in the auditorium is deafening. I watch her walk off the stage and towards the exit before dropping to the floor in panic to prevent Rachel from seeing me and accidentally smashed my knee against the chair in front of me. _Mother—fucking—OW_. I bite down on my hand to prevent myself from yelling out in pain.

After I'm sure that Rachel's left, I sigh in relief from not being caught and stand up to look at the fresh bruise on my knee with a scowl.

"Today has really fucking sucked," I say out loud to the empty auditorium, feeling only _slightly _bad for swearing.

The bell rings and I leave to head to my next class. I stand next to the auditorium door and watch people laugh and joke around with their friends and significant others. Sure enough, Santana is carrying Brittany on her back and Brit is laughing telling her to go faster down the hall to her class. Finn throws a football down the hall to Puck and I stand there blending in with the walls, wondering where I _fit_.

I spot Berry hunched over holding her books tightly to her chest and fast walking to class hoping to not be noticed by anyone. But I see her; I've seen more of Rachel Berry today than I think most people here have, ever. There's such a contrast between the confident Rachel who was on stage today and this Rachel scurrying to class with her _Harry Potter_ book.

Perhaps watching her like that was an invasion of privacy. I know that it doesn't matter much considering how I've already violated her enough today. This crime was just one of many.

Once the hall is essentially empty, I hold my head up high and am off to class.

The last bell rings and finally the school day ends, which means Cheerio's practice. I toss my messenger bag into my locker and Santana and Brittany appear next to me to walk together to practice.

"Hey Q!" Brittany wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.

"Hey, B," I choke out and pat her on the back, letting a small laugh escape.

"Britz, you're choking her," Santana chuckles and tugs lightly on Brittany's arm.

Santana looks at me cautiously and I wince remembering what Santana had said to me earlier in the cafeteria:

'_You are not my queen. You're my friend_.'

"Santana, may I speak with you privately for a moment?" I ask her, making it a point not to force her.

"Sure. B, wait for me in the locker room, okay?" Brittany smiles and kisses Santana on the cheek.

"Oh, are you going to kiss and make up now? Because I thought we were only allowed to kiss each other," Brittany asks curiously.

"Brittany! Santana and I will not be kissing," I say with red cheeks.

"Q _wishes_ we'd be kissing," Santana says with a smirk.

"Oh God, in your dreams," I scoff.

"Nope, my dreams are filled with this blondie," Santana wraps her arm around Brittany's neck and looks around to make sure the hall is empty before kissing her lightly on the lips. Brittany sighs and wraps her arms around Santana's waist, deepening the kiss.

"STOP IT! Someone might see, and I need to speak with you, Santana!" I yell and try to forcibly pull them apart; they only grip each other tighter.

"Oh, fine. Santana, I'm sorry I treated you like a minion today rather than a friend. There. I said it. I'm going to practice now. Try not to get caught," I toss my hands in the air in surrender and leave them to it in the hallway.

"You're forgiven!" Santana yells to me from down the hall where she left them. I shake my head and laugh under my breath before exhaling, "Girls."

As captain, it is my job to come up with daily work out routines. Today, I could use a good run and thus gives myself and the girls a couple laps to run around the track. Coach Sylvester is barking orders out her megaphone on the sidelines, as usual.

"You call that running, Williams? I've seen Christopher Reeve run father than that…after he fell off that horse!"

I stifle a laugh and try tuning her out, looking out towards the boys practicing football in the field ahead. Strange, Puck left practice and is walking towards the bleachers to a certain brunette figure sitting at the top, reading a book…

I carelessly trip on a rock and fall on my bruised knee.

"Ow! _Fuck_," I hiss and now have a huge gash to match my bruise.

Sitting where I fell, I lean back on my hands and look up at the sun, wishing I could escape this day.

"Really, God? Really?" I whisper towards the sky.

"Q! I smell the stench of your blood and weakness from all the way over here. You're my head cheerleader; I need you to toughen up! Get to the bleachers and get that cleaned up!" Sue yells at me through her megaphone.

"Yes, coach," I say and struggle to stand up before limping towards the bleachers.

Puck is sitting down next to the brunette figure: Rachel. He's gesturing something and she giggles at whatever he's saying, responding animatedly and excitedly. When he wraps an arm around her shoulders, she leans on him as though they've…_friends_.

Did I hit my fucking head on the pavement or something? What universe am I living in?

"Puckerman!" I yell up to him and he looks down at me with a bemused expression.

Rachel turns her head away and bites her lip, refusing to look at me.

"Get down here," I demand and Puck hurries down the bleachers to sit next to me.

"What's up, baby?" He says and puts an arm around me, which I easily shrug off.

"Uh, practice is that way," I say, pointing at the boys on the football field before narrowing my eyes and adding, "And what do you think you're doing with Berry?"

"Coach Bieste isn't even here today. Rach and I were talkin' about the book she's reading, you know Harry Po_-_"

"Yes! For the love of God, I know _Harry Potter_!" I cut him off angrily.

"What's got your panties in a bunch, babe? Is Finn not doing you right? Because you know, the Puckster can step in at any time," he winks at me like a true jackass.

"I am not having sex with Finn!" I exclaim, and a few cheerleaders stop to look my way.

"Really? That's not what he's been telling us," Puck shrugs.

I seethe at him, mouthing wordlessly as he continues.

"Hudson has been telling us that he's been giving it to you good for the past couple weeks, he's even shown us some scratch marks on his back as proof. You're real wild, huh?" He chuckles and messes with his Mohawk before adding, "Oh, and Rach and I have been best buds for a long time now. We live in the same neighborhood and like the same stuff. And girls. She's my sexy Jew bro. She's been coming to my practices for like, ever. I'm surprised you never noticed. You should really think about getting out some of that tension, babe. If you ever need help, give me a call!" He laughs and runs off to rejoin practice.

Fuming isn't a good enough adjective to describe my current state. Finn is a huge asshole and I feel like she woke up this morning to a new world filled with Berry. Yesterday, I didn't even know her last name. Today? Rachel's _everywhere_. This disgusting gash and bruise is all her fault.

Since when is Puck even friends with girls? Does that mean they've slept together? Wait, what did he say…_We live in the same neighborhood and like the same stuff. And girls_. Does that mean—is that—did Puck—was he saying she's a lesbian? What do I even care? I have less than zero of a relationship with Rachel. I don't care about _her_, or her stupid books, or her stupid, beautiful voice.

I look down at my knee and groan when blood begins dripping down her leg. _That's absolutely gross_. Turning around, I notice that Rachel has disappeared from her spot on the bleachers. Where'd she go? I whip my head back and forth trying to find her.

I'm being absolutely insane and close my eyes tightly. Rachel is absolutely nothing to me and I'm not letting some girl get under my skin. She's beneath me; she's a loser for God's sake! I have no business wondering where Rachel is or being curious about her 'friendship' with Puck.

"Quinn, are you alright?" A soft voice wonders and my heart strangely flutters.

Standing before me is a cautious Rachel biting her lip and holding the first aid kit from the gym.

"Ugh. Go away already," I plead and place my head in my hands, only looking up when I assume Rachel's gone. She hasn't.

Rachel opens the kit and kneels on the ground before me, carefully cleaning up the blood with some gauze and blotting the cut with rubbing alcohol.

"Ow! _That fucking hurts_!" I hiss.

"You're being a wimp, for such a tough girl. And rather improper for a Christian," she responds sardonically.

"I don't need your help. I don't want your help. So why don't you just run off before I have Santana slushie you again?" I narrow my eyes at her, clearly threatening her.

Rachel pushes the alcohol soaked gauze deeper into my cut which hurts like hell and I gasp from the pain.

"Oops," Rachel says sarcastically.

"You totally did that on purpose," I respond in surprise.

"I'm helping you and you threatened to have a grape Slurpee thrown into my face again. I've had enough public humiliation, thank you very much," Rachel dabs at her cut again violently and I involuntarily jerk away.

Rachel finishes gently bandaging me up the rest of the time, closing the first aid kid and walking away before I feel a sense of panic in my gut.

"Wait, that's it? You're not going to yell at me or tell me I'm horrible?" I frantically yell after her and don't understand why she's being kind.

Rachel stops in her tracks and yells back over her shoulder, "You don't need me to tell you that."

I deflate and watch her walk all the way back to the gym until I can no longer see her. I guess I deserved to hear that, that I'm horrible. I know it and Rachel didn't need to say it for it to be true. I feel tightness in my chest, however, from how matter-of-factly Rachel said it. I wonder if there's anything good about me left at all.

I examine the carefully placed bandage on my knee from gentle hands and feel tears welling in my eyes.

No, I don't care, and I _won't_ care.

I resolve to grab Finn and force him to drive me home, getting up and limping towards the field.

"Finn! Finn Hudson!" I shout towards the field.

Finn notices me and runs to the side lines covered in sweat, leaning in for a kiss which I quickly reject.

"I'm not feeling well, I want to go home," I tell him desperately.

"So did you think about what we talked about this morning? I know that will help cheer you up," he says with a grin and I'm so appalled that I don't bother giving him a response at all before turning around to limp all the way home.

"Don't be like that, babe! I just know how to make you feel better. Hey, are you limping?" He yells after me.

"Finn! What would make me feel better is having a boyfriend who doesn't talk about having sex every 5 minutes and actually acts like he cares about me. And yes, I hurt my knee, maybe if you had paid attention earlier you would have noticed. Don't follow me, I'm calling my mother and getting a ride home," I yell and continue down the field.

"Call me later when you've calmed down, Quinn!" Finn yells after me.

I walk around the school to the front steps and sit down, pulling out my cell phone. I call the house phone three times to no avail, as no one picks up.

I resourcefully look around the parking lot for someone to give me a ride and see Santana's red Camaro in the spot she vandalized at the beginning of the year by painting 'Santana' on it. She got away with it because her father is a doctor and makes considerable donations to the school. It's now simply designated as Santana's spot. I, however, am not allowed to have a car until I make the money to afford it. My father says that I have to _earn_ it.

I decide to sit there until Santana and Brittany appear from wherever they're having sex in the school. Coach Sylvester isn't going to be pleased that they've skipped practice_ again_.

I lean her head up against the railing and close my eyes thinking about everything that's gone wrong today. The door behind me opens and Rachel walks out to the lot to find her car. She sees me and says nothing; she doesn't even acknowledge me.

Oh, that's cool. _Harry Potter _girl has a car and I don't.

I've been saving for a while now and am close to being able to afford one but it doesn't make me any less jealous.

Jealous…of Rachel Berry. That's what I've succumbed to.

Rachel pulls up in front of me in an older black Mustang. She almost looks attractive, in this moment and _no way _does she have such a nice car.

"Get in," Rachel nods her head to the car.

"I'm thinking 'no'?" I ask rhetorically.

"Suit yourself, then, and stay here forever. But if you're waiting for your friends I just walked by them having sex in the choir room and I think it's going to be a while," Rachel says, shifting the car from park to drive.

"Wait! Okay, wait," I bite my lip and know I'd rather have Rachel Berry drive me home than wait here for another couple of hours. I limp forward and get in the car, crossing my arms in distaste.

"Just don't touch anything," Rachel says, pulling out of the lot.

"Like I would want to touch anything of yours," I retort and characteristically roll my eyes.

Rachel frowns but bites back whatever retort she's thinking of; she's clearly too gentle for her own good.

There is an incredibly awkward tension between us. Rachel keeps doing kind things for me and I keep unappreciatively throwing them back in her face. This morning when she went to pick up my books, a little while ago when she bandaged up my knee and now this ride home.

I guess that Rachel senses the same awkwardness because she turns the volume up on the song she currently has playing on her iPod which is connected to the car stereo.

_Shake It Out _by Florence + the Machine begins and I think about Rachel earlier in the auditorium singing it herself.

"You like Florence?" I ask her, knowing full well that she does.

"I think she has a beautiful voice," Rachel says softly.

"She's not the only one," I mumble with a scoff.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She looks at me aghast.

Shit.

"Just that, you know, there are plenty of great female singers out there," I mentally slap myself on the forehead.

We drive for a few minutes in a much less awkward silence, both of us humming along to the songs. I secretly wish that Rachel would sing along, but I wouldn't dare ask and then admit to having watched her sing her heart out earlier.

"My house is down that street, there," I say and point towards the street coming up on the right.

"I know. We were on the same bus for all of middle school and the beginning of high school," Rachel shrugs and pulls up in front of my house.

"Oh," I say, and we're both awkwardly silent for a minute.

"Uh, thanks…I guess," I mumble and grab my stuff.

Rachel merely nods and doesn't say anything as I get out of the car, watching her speed off down the street.

Entering my house I find my mother napping on the couch, which explains why she didn't answer the phone. I carefully place the blanket over her and note the bottle of vodka next to her and lean forward to smell it on her breath.

I place the bottle carefully back in the liquor cabinet before making myself a plate of the chicken and rice my mother had made for dinner. I eat quickly and run upstairs to let my hair down out of this constricting ponytail. I find a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, remove my contacts, and put on my glasses. My eyes flash towards my bookshelf and I approach it.

I hesitate and run my fingers over them all, contracting dust. My hand stops on the _Harry Potter _books and I remember Rachel being so excited about reading the fourth for the third time.

'_This is the third time I've read it, you know, and I love it more every time_!'

I can't help but smile and grab my _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone _book out of my collection and curl up on the recliner with a blanket and read it hungrily, as though again for the first time.

I know that wherever Rachel is right now, she's finishing the fourth book for the third time. I also know that I will never see Rachel Berry in the same way again.

And truthfully? I really fucking love _Harry Potter_.

* * *

**A/N: The song is 'Shake It Out' by Florence + the Machine.**

**-Edited for quality 7/24/2012**


	2. Faded Friday

**A/N: Holy shit, guys, 60 alerts on this story in the first two days of me putting it up. For you, my friends, I'm posting chapter two so soon and it's much longer.**

**Chapter Two: Faded Friday**

"No, Finn, I'm completely serious. I _don't_ want you picking me up," I hiss into my phone while fumbling around the room trying to find my hair tie. Where could I have put it? I huff and toss the pillow I'm holding across the room. I don't have time for Finn and I'm too angry at him to think rationally when speaking to him.

"But why? And why didn't you call me last night to apologize? Come on, it's 6:30 in the morning. I don't want to argue and I know you're sorry. You're my girl and I'm coming to get you," he finishes confidently and hangs up the phone before I can respond.

I sigh and drop the phone onto my bed, deciding not to call back as it's too early in the morning to argue. I'd really rather today went vastly different than it did yesterday, even if I'm not sorry. Further, no matter how angry I am with Finn, I can't let this fight go too far. I need to keep him for the sake of my reputation; a queen is worthless without a king.

"_Yes_," I murmur in triumph when I spot my elusive hair tie next to the Harry Potter book I read last night. I quickly put my hair up in a slightly less than perfect arrangement and touch the book nostalgically with a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

I walk over to the mirror to readjust my hair and don't see the same perfection I saw in me yesterday morning, although I cannot place the difference. The uncertainty of it all makes me a bit uneasy, but I decide that perhaps I just look a little less fierce than usual and resolve to fix it by putting on my best HBIC face—even that looks weak.

I don't have time to deal with that now so I grab my bag, say goodbye to my mother in the kitchen and grab my usual granola bar before sitting on the front porch to wait for Finn to arrive. I need to apologize, I'm sure of it, as I cannot afford to lose him. I shouldn't have lost my temper with him on the football field…it's just that damn Rachel Berry who ruined my entire day.

But not today; I won't allow her to have any part of my day today.

_Rachel who_?

I hear an increasingly loud muffler in the distance and know it's Finn approaching my house. Sure enough, he pulls up and instead of getting out of his truck to greet me, he honks the horn and waves. He's no prince, but I digress.

I stand up and smooth my skirt down before pulling myself up into his truck and putting on my seatbelt. He leans over and I give him a deep, messy kiss on the lips, allowing him to stick his tongue down my throat a few times before pulling away. I grin in satisfaction at the arousal in his eyes knowing that this relationship won't be ending any time soon.

"Whoa, babe, what was that for?" He grins his lopsided grin at me.

I give him no response but rather wink at him seductively and allow him to place his hand on my knee, before placing the truck in 'drive' and jerking away from my curb.

"Are you coming to Puck's party tonight?" He asks me curiously.

Damn. I had completely forgotten about that with all of yesterday's bullshit. Puck's party = tons of underage drinking. TGIF: Thank God it's Friday.

Puck has a party once a month at his place on a Friday, which he has so cleverly entitled, 'Faded Friday's'. He kicks off the night by standing on a table and yelling, "Let's get faded!" Santana used to be his favorite member on such occasions until her and Brittany fell in love. I like to think of it as when Santana finally grew a pair and stepped up with Brittany, deciding not to be with anyone else for attention. Not that Puck knows about their relationship, no one but me does. He thinks that Santana merely got sick of him and moved on.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," I purr at him and he's delighted.

"Now, that's my girl! I missed you yesterday, Quinn. I guess I was, you know, kind of a jackass. I'm sorry," He squeezes my knee and seems genuine enough for me to nod and visibly accept his apology.

By the time we pull up to school, I feel much better about yesterday. After all, doesn't everyone have bad days? With a fresh bandage on my knee, an apologetic boyfriend and an empire to run, what else could you need?

Finn runs around the truck and opens my door for me, finally doing something chivalrous. I grin at the gesture and take his hand while he accompanies me into the building. People part for us as we walk down the hall as the true power couple of McKinley High.

"Quinn Fabray, can I sniff your underwear?" _Ew_? I whip my head around and search for the only disgusting pervert I know: Jacob whatever aka Jewfro. He's staring right at me with a fake microphone in his hand; what a loser.

With one glance at Finn and wave of my hand, he scowls at Jacob and tosses him into a locker. Once finished, he quickly grasps the hand he dropped and we keep walking as though the incident never happened.

Despite my best efforts in pretending that she doesn't exist, I find myself searching for Rachel. I'm itching for her to see me with Finn, in my rightful place as queen. I'm anxious to see her…_period_.

Rather, as usual, I spot Brittany and Santana waiting for me next to my locker. I stand on my toes and give Finn a quick kiss on the cheek as a goodbye gesture before leaving him to meet my girls.

"I take it you've forgiven the giant," Santana eyes Finn's departing figure disdainfully and adds, "I was hoping you'd break up with the beast and we'd finally get to have some fun."

"Santana, I'm not interested in your kind of _fun_," I stress the last word and Brittany giggles.

"Q, you're silly! Santana would never give you sweet lady kisses. Those are mine. But we can find you a lady friend, if you like," Brittany jumps on me and hugs me tightly.

"Whoa, Brit, I don't want a 'lady friend' and we are _not_ breaking up," I reject her offer gently as she's quite sensitive. I'm never hard on Brittany; she's too sweet and naïve. However, sometimes I feel like she sees more than others—not that I'd admit that freely.

"By the way, how'd you end up getting home last night? When Brit and I were finished doing our thing, we came out to grab you to drive you home and Finn said you already left," Santana asks peculiarly.

Shit. I can't let her know Berry drove me home yesterday; Santana would kick my ass after everything I put Rachel through. She'd call me a selfish bitch, and really, she wouldn't be wrong.

"I, uh—I walked," I shrug noncommittally while putting in my locker combination.

"You walked," Santana repeats doubtfully with her eyes narrowing at me.

"Yeah, so? It's not that far from here," I grab my English book and avoid eye contact with her.

"You have a huge gash and bruise on your knee. I watched you limp towards us just now, and you're saying you walked _all the way_ home," she continues eyeing me skeptically.

"Yes, Santana, I walked all the way home. It doesn't hurt all that much at all, it looks worse than it is," I say defensively.

"Okay, Q, whatever you say. You're the boss," she finishes her investigation of me and when I turn around to walk, my heart drops.

Rachel is walking down the hall with her hair up, in a comfortable-looking pair of ripped jeans and a t-shirt with writing on it that I can't quite make out from this distance. She's looking down, completely unaware of my gaze, clutching her Harry Potter book to her chest and carrying her bag to class on her right shoulder. I was right in assuming that Rachel and I were reading together last night as the book she has clutched to her chest today is different from the one she had yesterday. Today, she has the fifth book with her: _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. _I feel a certain warmth when I think about us reading together at the same time in different places.

Ew, warmth? Snap out of it. _Rachel who_, remember?

Warmth it is though, considering she seems to be the only girl out there with similar interests as me. That's probably untrue; I just never let anyone know what they really are. I couldn't stand being thought of as geeky, or even worse, like _Rachel Berry_. The problem is that I don't have anyone else to talk to about these secret, guilty pleasures. I'd love to be able to sit down and have a Harry Potter discussion with someone, just once. Or have a book partner who I read a new book with every week and then discuss it; someone to see dorky movies with, like comic book movies, and listen to excellent music with instead of the typical party music. The unfortunate truth is that I don't have someone like that, because I kicked every old friend I considered geeky out of my life years ago. And I can't find one because then I'd be risking my reputation.

It's not exactly like Santana and Brittany read for fun, unless you count a Dr. Seuss book for Brittany. Santana is incredibly smart, of course, but only with her school work and she doesn't necessarily even try. Most of the time she's trying to assist Brittany in any way she can; writing her papers for her, helping her cheat on tests, etc. I'm surprised teachers haven't caught on. Santana, surprisingly, is actually quite a decent girlfriend.

After Brittany and Santana drop me off at my English class, I'm the first one in the room and tapping my pen on my notebook impatiently waiting for Rachel to arrive. I wonder if she'll acknowledge me after yesterday, or if she'll have the nerve to sit next to me again. It's almost as though I secretly _wish_ she'd sit there, if you could believe that. I leave the seat next to me open just in case. Not that I wouldn't give her shit for trying.

I'm lightly biting on the end of my pen violently staring down every person who enters the room, scaring most of them quickly to their seats.

_Oh, move already, idiots. I don't have time for you_.

When Rachel finally walks in my heart flutters in my chest and I watch her walk gracefully…to the complete opposite side of the classroom.

I clench my eyes shut in disappointment and then chastise myself for caring to begin with. What did you expect, Quinn, her to run over and hug you? The warmth from earlier returns and I fight to keep it at bay. I shudder at the thought of what people would think if she did hug me. _Why would she anyway, or be kind to you at all_?

Some acne-ridden boy I've never seen before tries to sit next to me and I glare at him until he quickly packs his stuff back up and pulls the chair away to squeeze in at a different table. Rachel watches him leave and frowns at me from across the room. I roll my eyes in response, looking away from her, but not without my heart skipping a beat from the interaction, if that's what you could call it.

I repeatedly watch the clock, growing more and more frustrated. A half hour has gone by and Rachel hasn't looked at me once, not since frowning at me for kicking that kid out of the seat next to me. Why won't she look at me?

I'm trying to send her some kind of telepathic message: look at me, _look at me_!

Oh God, Quinn, get a grip. You're being pathetic.

I resolve to ignore her right back and take my notes, fighting the urge to look at her and pretending she isn't even there. When the bell rings, she's up and out of the room before I even have a chance to look again.

By the time lunch rolls around, I'm still wondering where Rachel is. Brittany is feeding Santana French fries; gross, too much love. My eyes wander lazily around the room for Finn and find him with the football guys having a salt packet war: who can suck on more salt packets without making a face. Idiots.

_Where's Rachel?_

And there I go again, searching the room to see if I can spot her perhaps hidden behind a vending machine.

_Success_!

I do end up spotting her moving quickly through the exit of the cafeteria. Is she going back to the auditorium again? I fight and _lose_ an overwhelming need to find out and potentially hear her voice again.

"Uh, I have to go to the bathroom," I murmur to Brittany and Santana and motion to leave.

"Me too, Q, I'll come with you!" Brittany says and links arms with me.

Crap.

"Okay, Brit," I force a smile and pretend to be happy about it.

She skips down the hallway after releasing her arm from mine and I chuckle at her innocence. Except, now that I think about it, she's not really all that innocent; not with the things her and Santana do to one another. I flush at the thought and enter the bathroom with her, splashing some water on my heated cheeks and then pretending I need to pee.

While she's washing her hands I come up with necessary a plan to ditch her and execute it we get back to the cafeteria. I walk her to our table and leave her with Santana before exclaiming, "Oh! Damn, I forgot my lip gloss in the bathroom. Be back in a bit."

I move fast before any of them can follow me, running down the hall to make it to the auditorium as if there isn't another 45 minutes left in our lunch period. While approaching, the music gets louder and I bend down leaning on my knees trying to catch my breath next to the door. I hear music from inside the auditorium, but no voice. If Rachel isn't in there, where did she go? And who's playing the piano?

I gently pry open the door and peek inside, eyes landing on Rachel playing the piano alone center stage with her lunch tray lying untouched, next to her on the bench. She sings and plays? _She's really talented_, I muse.

The music is guiding me, filling my body and pulling me towards the stage. One foot in front of the other and I have no control. Her music is beautiful and holds me spellbound with every note. Before I know it, I'm walking up the stairs to the stage and standing there watching her unfortunately without foreseeing any consequence.

Her back is facing towards me and she's reasonably involved in the piece she's playing, swaying with it, almost as though she's part of the music. And she is, really. I don't think I'd find it quite so beautiful if she wasn't a part of it in every way.

When the piece ends I'm filled with disappointed and whisper, "Don't stop," before I can stop myself. I quickly cover my mouth with my hand, but it's too late and she whips around to face me.

"Q-Quinn? What are _you_ doing in here?" She stands up quickly, almost knocking over her tray.

"Careful, you almost lost your lunch. And I could ask you the same thing, you know," I counter while folding my arms and taking a step backwards.

"Nobody is ever in here during the lunch period and it's a nice time to practice," Rachel says quietly, standing awkwardly next to the piano and crossing her own arms. It's silent for a few moments with tension between us.

You should compliment her. _What? Are you insane? _She's really fucking good and you're standing here looking like a jackass with a superiority complex.

"You're pretty good," I finally admit to fill the silence her wide, chocolate eyes snap up to mine from the floor.

"You think so?" she whispers with shining eyes and I get choked up from the blatant desire for my approval, but manage to maintain a calm façade and nod.

I have been looking for her all day, after all. The least I can do is be nice.

"Yeah, I do. What were you playing? It sounded familiar," I ask while hesitantly moving closer to the piano and resolving to sit down on the stage, watching her. This allows her to relax a bit and lean against the piano, uncrossing her arms.

"I—well, normally I sing in here but sometimes it's nice to hear the piano fill the walls and reverberate. I was playing the Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven, which is probably why it sounded familiar," she laughs gently and I'm shocked by the beautiful sound, knowing that she's actually allowing herself to be comfortable with me.

I notice that her face lights up when she talks about something exciting to her. She rambles and talks a bit too fast, but really, it's more adorable than it is annoying.

"You can sing, too? You must be pretty talented," I say, encouraging her to believe I've never heard it.

"Yes, I—I try. I'm pretty good, I think. Most people really like it when I sing," she admits.

"Go on, then," I gulp and wave my hand, hoping that she'll sing. This was definitely _not_ the result.

"What? Sing for you? Are you out of your mind? What—what are you even doing here? Is someone hiding with a Slurpee?" As though she just realized who she's been conversing with, her arms shoot up and cross defensively, looking around anxiously and expecting someone to pop out from a hiding spot and attack her.

I pick myself back up off the floor with a sigh, flattening my skirt and realizing that I've worn out my welcome.

"Nobody is going to attack you. I was drawn to your piece from out in the hall because it was peaceful…and it's rare to find a moment of peace in this place. Keep playing, Rachel," I say sincerely before walking down the stairs to the stage, scratching at the back of my neck.

"Wait, Quinn. That was rude of me. Come back, you can stay," she says apologetically.

I'm overcome with warmth, especially by her acceptance and want so desperately to stay. However, that desire in it of itself is why I cannot, and remind myself how she and I cannot be friends.

"I don't need your permission and I don't want to stay," I say steadily, clench my fists at my sides and hating myself inside.

"Fine, be that way. I didn't expect anything less from you," Rachel quips and sits back down on the piano chair.

I whip around angrily and yell, "I don't know why you would expect anything from me, period. I don't know why you keep being nice to me when I'm never nice to you!"

Rachel stands up and walks to the edge of the stage, yelling right back at me stutter-free, "Because I keep thinking that there's something good in you worth being nice to and that if I'm nice enough, you'll start showing that girl to me. I feel like she was just on the stage with me _not 5 minutes ago_!"

I shake my head in frustration and dramatically exit the auditorium, slamming the door behind me, and leaning up against it to feel my heart is pounding in my head. Nobody flusters me or frustrates me like this and I need to stay away from her. I put my hand up against my cheek to feel it burning hot and know I must be flushed.

"I need to cool down," I mumble and do my best to walk it off on my way back to the cafeteria. There's twenty minutes left for lunch anyway and I should grab something to eat. Perhaps my blood sugar is low and that's why I'm reacting this way.

I'm the only one in the lunch line and I feel all eyes on me, suddenly wishing I was back in the privacy of the auditorium again with Rachel. _Enough with Rachel, already_.

I find my familiar lunch table and sit back in my rightful place next to Santana and Brittany, digging into my chicken Caesar wrap, hardly trying to look classy while I wipe dressing off my lips.

"Took you a long time to find that lip gloss," Santana says suspiciously with an arm around Brittany's waist.

"I bumped into a teacher that I had to talk to, what's it to you?" I snap at Santana and state her down, daring her to challenge me.

She looks at me curiously, but only for a moment before shrugging and taking a sip of her water.

"While you were off talking to '_teachers'_, Coach Sylvester came in to tell us that she needs to speak with the three of us after lunch and that she will give us late passes to our next class. But that it's 'urgent'," she scoffs and rolls her eyes.

The bell rings by the time I've finished my wrap and we approach Coach Sylvester's door cautiously before I bravely reach out and knock, sticking my head in and asking, "You wanted to see us, coach?"

She takes her glasses off at our appearance and says, "Yes, Q, come in. Tell 'Brittana' to join you, as well."

"'Brittana', ma'am?" I ask her curiously, cautiously taking a seat before her.

"Since they are never apart nor do they act without consulting the other, I've cleverly deemed them a single robot-like entity, 'Brittana'. They don't need separate names," she declares proudly while Brittany giggles and Santana blushes furiously.

"Anyway, girls, I'm not sure if you've ever heard of this travesty known as 'glee club', but this year our God awful, poor excuse of a principal is splitting the Cheerio's budget with them in order for them to afford frivolous things, such as a handicapped bus in order to get the wheel-chaired kid to their regional competition. I was going to sick that vampire Asian girl on him but she refused. I didn't understand why she wouldn't want to use her powers for evil until I found out that she was actually _in_ the glee club! I knew vampires were evil but engaging in something _that _homosexual? Alas, here we are, with _half our budget _stolen from us!" she furiously slams her hand down on the desk in front of her for full effect.

"I thought the Glee club sucked and that's why they never had a decent budget," Santana voices next to me indifferently.

"According to my sources, they have this new Jewish girl with an actual decent voice. You know Jewish girls are a singing dream; they have their very own Barbra Streisand in kid form now. They might actually be worth something this year. That, and they have a blonde male lead that reminds them of that Bieber boy with bigger lips and muscles. Puckerman from the football team occasionally joins them for a few songs, which doesn't hurt their possibilities," she growls through gritted teeth.

"_Puck_?! Singing in glee club?" Santana's eyes widen in disbelief.

"Apparently the contagion that is 'glee' is spreading. That's why you're here, girls. I want you to infiltrate the glee club and destroy it from the inside," she finishes resolutely.

Coach looks directly at me and adds, "You remind me of a younger Sue Sylvester, Q. If anyone can be evil enough for this, it's you."

I feel a sharp knife twist in my gut at the evil reference; even Coach Sylvester knows how horrible I am to everyone.

"Coach, with all due respect, I am not joining the glee club. The lamest people at this school are in glee," I tell her carefully and add, "Puck as the only exception."

"Hell no, coach, _no freakin' way_ will you see this hot ass in a glee club," Santana says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

"I like singing," Brittany says simply with a smile.

"You'll do it or you'll be surrendering your position as head cheerleader and I'll put you on the bottom of the pyramid with the cattle. Same with you, Santana. Follow Brittany and be a good robot," Coach commands.

I am exceptionally indignant about this whole situation and mouth at her wordlessly, knowing full well that Santana is wearing the same expression.

_How can she do this to me_?

"When are we even supposed to go to these club meetings? We have school all day and Cheerio's practice every day right after!" I speak up desperately.

"Your last period of the day is usually a study hall for being involved in a sports team. You can choose, however, to join a club and be with them during that period and leave their after school meetings. You _will_ choose to fill that period with glee now. And you better make me proud. Now get the hell out of my office before I barf from the level of love coming off Brittana. Disgusting," Coach puts her glasses back on, tosses us late passes and waves us out of her office.

Santana and I look at each other horrified when we enter the hall.

"San, does this mean we get to sing and dance now everyday?" Brittany pulls on Santana's arm excitedly and Santana's eyes brighten and she calms down instantly.

"Yeah, Brit-Brit, it does," Santana tells her dejectedly and Brittany jumps up and down making Santana laughs.

Unfortunately for me, I don't have someone who does that for me, so I'm stuck fuming with rage. I leave the traitors behind and walk to class in order to endure two more periods before hell freezes over and I join the glee club.

* * *

Entering the room I almost hold onto Santana, as though merely entering will somehow strike me dead. Immediately I spot the wheelchair kid, vampire girl, this black girl I believe is named Mercedes, gay kid Kurt, some Asian guy, and the tall attractive blonde Bieber that coach was talking to us about. I hear familiar laughter and my eyes shift to none other than Puck, sitting in the back of the room with his feet on the chair in front of him.

I put my hands on my hips and purse my lips, "I didn't know you liked singing, _Noah_."

"Don't call me that. Hey, ladies. This club is actually kind of fun. We kick serious ass when we play together. Plus, I joined for my bro," he says and points to someone behind me, creating the hair stand at the back of my neck. I don't need to turn around to know it's her, _the young singer akin to Barbra Streisand._

I should have known. _She's one hell of a singer, that Rachel Berry_.

I turn around and stifle a groan, staring at her with painful eyes and I'm not surprised when she storms over to who I presume is Mr. Schuester, the man in charge of the glee club.

"They're not joining, are they? I forbid it. This room is judgment-free, we have fun together! They will ruin _everything_!" Rachel yells and doesn't bother trying to lower her voice, or hide her opinion from us. I don't even try to argue with her as I really am here to destroy everything.

"Hey, Berry, get over yourself. You don't have a say, and yes, _we're joining_. I don't care if you have a problem with it. I want to sing and be in glee club, so _there_," Santana grins at her and I smother a laugh.

Rachel gulps and panics, looking around the room frantically and finally her furious eyes land on me, waiting for me to tell her that this is some kind of joke

"I'm with Santana," I shrug, knowing I've just devastated her.

"Rachel, calm down. We have an open door policy in the glee club, you know that. If they're here to join we have to let them in," Mr. Schuester places a placating hand on Rachel's shoulder, which she quickly shoves off.

When she sits down angrily, I grin at her smugly in satisfaction knowing that I'm pushing it. I wink at her and she groans, placing her head in her hands. Puck rubs her back and I twinge from…jealousy? No, it must just be that Puck shouldn't be touching a loser like Berry. That's it.

Regardless, the grin is swiftly wiped off my face.

"Alright…erm…everyone take their seats," Mr. Schuester says in the least commanding voice I've ever heard. He's such a joke; he clearly has no idea how to run a classroom. I can't believe he's their club leader, no less an actual _teacher _at this school.

"I thought maybe today we could keep things loose and show the new girls how it's done. Everyone can sing a song that they want to, keeping it PG-13, of course," he winks knowingly at the wheelchair kid, who introduces himself as Artie. I guess Artie is a little dirty.

"Who wants to go first?" Schuester asks and surprise, surprise, Rachel raises her hand high in the air. My eyes roll automatically. _Of course she does_.

She goes over to speak to the band for a moment before grabbing a microphone and turning into her confident doppelganger, looking at me real fierce. She's powerful…sexy, even, with a microphone. She opens her mouth with eyes on me and I know the song; it makes me cringe.

_Run, whirlwind run  
further and further away  
into the sun.  
In 20 minutes  
everyone will remember you when you're gone.  
And your heart is a stone  
buried underneath your pretty clothes.  
Don't you know people write songs about girls like you?_

Her eyes pour into mine and don't look away, she hardly blinks at all. Humiliation burns inside me and I flush, held where I'm sitting and unable to look away from my torturer as she continues.

_What will you do when something stops you?  
What will you say to the world?  
What will you be when it all comes crashing  
down on you little girl?  
What would you do if you lost your beauty?  
How would you deal with the light?  
How would you feel if nobody chased you?  
What if it happened tonight?_

She sings angrily and powerfully, quite contrary to her emotional rendition of 'Shake It Out' yesterday. I realize suddenly that she's giving me exactly what I asked for today in the auditorium: she's singing to me, for me, even. Judging by the song, she must find me to be extremely shallow and honestly, I never gave her a reason to think otherwise.

_How would you cope if the world decided to  
make you suffer for all that you were?  
How could you dance if no one was watching  
and you couldn't even care if they were?  
What would you do if you couldn't even feel  
not even pitiful pain?  
How would you deal if the indecisions  
eating away at the days?  
Don't you know people write songs about girls like you?_

When she finishes the band plays for a few more seconds and she returns to her seat in front of Puck, an aura of fire surrounding her. All eyes are on me and I feel them burning into the back of my head, like electricity is running along the top of my skin. I maintain my composure and don't bother looking back at Rachel, who I just know is still staring at me hatefully. After begging for her to look at me this morning in English, I ironically wish now that I could get her to look away.

Mr. Schuester coughs to break the tension and asks while looking around desperately, "Uh, well done, Rachel. So who's next?"

"I'll go, Mr. Schue," Mercedes gets up and belts out an amazing rendition of 'How Will I Know' by Whitney Houston.

One by one the glee clubbers sing; some in duets and I'm repeatedly shocked by their talent. They actually are pretty good, except for Mike, and what he lacks in vocal talent he makes up in amazing dance skills. For the first time since entering the room I feel a pang of guilt for the fact that I'm here to sabotage this genuinely good thing that they've got going on for them.

When the bell rings we exit out into the hall and I'm just relieved to get away from Rachel as we walk towards the locker room for Cheerio's practice. Santana and I collectively let out a breath that we seem to have been holding for the whole hour and Brittany is the first to speak.

"San! Quinn! I had so much fun!" She squeals.

"I guess we're stuck, Q," San looks at me and shakes her head.

"Maybe it won't be that bad," I say optimistically, to which Santana responds with a look stating that '_hell might freeze over before we enjoy glee club_'. She doesn't say that out loud though because of Brittany's happiness.

"Maybe not for us, but Berry seems to really hate you, Q," Santana chuckles.

"What the hell do I care how Berry feels about me?" I snap at her.

"Nobody is saying that you do, but if we're stuck in glee club with her hating you across the room everyday, that's gonna get kind of old. Especially if she sings songs about hating you," Santana says defensively.

That particular detail causes me an unexpected level of pain. It's fine, though. She can hate me all she wants as there's nothing I can do about it.

The two love birds decide to actually make an appearance at practice today and on our way to the field I spot Rachel walking across the grass, heading to the bleachers.

"Oh _hell_ no," I growl and run to catch up with her, grabbing her by the arm to stop her in her tracks.

"Get your hands off me, Quinn!" Rachel yells yanks her arm out of my grasp and holds her Harry Potter book clutched closely to her chest with a frown on her face.

I hold my hands up in surrender, gesturing that I won't physically hurt her and say, "You can't watch Puck practice today."

For whatever reason, I can't seem to control myself or my desire to look at Rachel. I need to be able to focus today instead of looking for her every 3 seconds during practice.

"You know, Quinn, you've got a lot of nerve telling me what to do," she says fiercely without backing down.

"Yeah, well, you should just do yourself a favor and listen to me; otherwise I'm going to have to hurt you," I say quietly and wince, looking at the ground.

"You don't sound so confident about that," she says softly and tilts her head, her frown quickly disappearing and her anger being replaced with confusion.

Honestly? She's absolutely right. I'm not confident about this threat and my heart just isn't in it. I don't want to have to hurt her but I know that if she doesn't listen to me I can't just _let _her get away with it. I'm completely torn between wanting to just let her go do her thing and getting revenge for insubordination. If I do let her go, will she tell people and then I'll lose my credibility?

"You could just let me go, Quinn," Rachel whispers as though reading my mind.

I hesitate and bite my lip, saying nothing.

"Okay, then have it your way. I'm going anyway. And if you want to hurt me later for it, so be it," Rachel says and shrugs, walking away towards the bleachers.

Shit, I guess I'm going to have to deal with that distraction after all. I exhale and shake my head.

Four of the cheerleaders beneath me in rank are climbing up the bleachers towards Rachel, hovering over her. _What_? Rachel looks…frightened.

I frantically hurry up the bleachers to investigate and potentially intervene, although I really don't want to have to stand up for Rachel.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like RuPaul?" one of them says and the rest snicker.

"What are you reading anyway, loser? Harry Potter? What are you, 12?" the same girl questions and grabs her book away from her.

"For your information, Harry Potter is ageless. I'd prefer it if you gave that back to me," Rachel says resolutely reaching for her possession.

"You want it back? You're going to have to go get it!" She's about to chuck the book over the fence—

"Stop!" I yell from behind then causing her arm to freeze.

Seething, I put on my best HBIC face and growl, "Girls, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Just having a good time with Berry, we thought she was bothering you, Quinn," says the one bitch that I recognize now as Melissa, holding her book. When she faces me she looks afraid. _Good_.

This is what it comes down to: revenge or walk away? I take in the sight of Rachel from behind the girls; she looks directly at me with watering eyes and the sight of her causes my breath to hitch.

_Walk away it is_.

"No, she's fine. Give her the stupid book back and let's get to practice," I command calmly, noticing that the look of total shock on Rachel's face was completely worth it.

"But, Quinn, are you really just—" the bitch is hesitating to leave, looking at Rachel with loathing.

"Did you just question me? You're doing suicides for all of practice. Get going. _I don't want you to stop until you throw up_," I demand and glare at her crossly, watching her run to start her punishment before I do anything worse.

"Anyone else?" I quirk an eyebrow at the girls still standing and they shake their heads fervently.

"Let it be known that no one is to torture Berry unless it's me, got it? Hands. Off. Spread the word and get your asses down to practice before I make you join Melissa doing suicides for being idiots," I say.

They run down to the field before I sigh and turn back towards Rachel, who is looking at me with admiration, the tears in her eyes all dried up.

"That's the nicest thing I could have ever done for you. Nobody will be touching you from now on but me," I tell her with a respectful nod and it's the oddest thing, she blushes in response.

I turn around and walk down the bleachers. I can't be sure, but I think I heard her faintly whisper, "Thank you."

I feel that familiar warmth course through me but don't respond.

My mouth curls and I scowl while passing Melissa and I join Coach Sylvester for instructions.

"Why is that girl doing suicides?" Coach Sylvester questions me with a quirked eyebrow.

"She bothered me," I shrug coldly.

She chuckles, "Oh Quinn, you're just like a little me," and she clasps a hand on me shoulder.

In this moment, that's something I'm actually proud of. My eyes shift towards Rachel in the bleachers reading her book and I know she's safe from any torment that's not coming from me.

* * *

We run through some routines and end practice a little early not only because it's Friday, but because everyone is eager to get ready for Puck's party so they keep screwing up.

"Go! Get out of my face before I throw up on all of you for being so pathetic!" Coach yells at us as we walk to the locker room.

Santana dutifully agrees to driving me home in her gorgeous red Camaro.

"Finn isn't going to drive you home today?" Santana looks at me questioningly.

Finn—I totally forgot about Finn today. I don't remember thinking about him once all day. I've been so focused on…_Rachel_. That fact makes me incredibly nervous and I bite my lip, taking my phone out to text him.

**Me**: Grabbing a ride home with Santana. See you tonight? ;)

**Finn**: That's cool, grabbin pizza w/ the dudes. Yes!

"I guess not," I shrug and smile at how easy things are with Finn; keeping him happy is very simple.

Most of the time when Santana is driving there is a don't-touch-my-radio policy in effect. However, when Brittany is in the car that policy goes out the window and she spends the entire time surfing for entertaining music.

"Oh, I love this song!" Brittany puts the volume on high to the 1983 song, 'What A Feeling' from the movie Flashdance and sings along at the top of her lungs.

"WHAT A FEELING, IS BELIEVING!"

Tears leak from my eyes from laughing so hard as she starts attempting to dance along in the front seat.

Something bubbles up inside me and I yell from behind her, "WHAT A PASSION, MAKE IT HAPPEN!"

"Come on, guys, dance with me!" Brit yells and Santana is cracking up.

"Baby, I'm driving, but I'll sing along!" Santana says with a grin.

What the hell, right? Much to Brittany's delight I start rocking out in the backseat. Now it's the three of us belting out the song together.

When the song ends we lower the volume and the laughter dies down when we pull up to my house.

"I think the glee club would have been pleased with that rendition," Santana says matter-of-factly and we're totally silent until we burst back into laughter.

"Us in the glee club, can you believe it?" I ask them.

"It's going to be so much fun," Brittany says eagerly.

After a moment Santana turns to me and asks, "Do you need me to pick you up tonight or what?"

"I'll let you know for sure, but I'm going to ask my father to borrow the car," I say flatly and pull my bag over my shoulder.

"So, I should expect to be picking you up then," Santana states.

"He let's me occasionally, it should be fine. Thank you, though, for the back up option," I say appreciatively while exiting the car.

"Bye Q! See you when we're gettin' wild at Puck's!" Brittany yells out the window as Santana's already driving down the street.

My abs are sore from all the laughter and while opening the front door I hesitate trying to remember the last time I laughed that hard; I can't remember.

"Mom? Are you home?" I yell to a seemingly empty house. I sigh and check the couch in the family room. Sure enough, she's passed out again just like the night before with the same bottle of vodka next to her. I pick up the bottle and put it back in the liquor cabinet, furious that she keeps drinking like this.

"Quinnie? Is that you?" she groans and sits up, holding a hand to her forehead.

"Hold on, mom," I say and I hurry to the kitchen to grab her a few Advil and a glass of water.

I hand them both to her and sit down with her on the couch while she takes the pills.

"Thanks, honey. How was school?" she asks and sloppily pats me on the cheek.

"It was fine, I guess. Mom, you should really stop drinking like this," I tell her uneasily as I grab her hand.

"I don't know what you're talking about. It's perfectly healthy to have a few drinks throughout the day," she says defensively.

"Mom, you're passing out in the middle of the afternoon—"

"That's enough, Quinn. Don't worry about me; I'm not doing anything unusual. I better get dinner ready before your father gets home," she says in finality and kisses me on the forehead, getting up and entering the kitchen. I grab a bottle of water for myself out of the fridge.

"Are you going out with Finn tonight?" She asks while putting a pot of water on the stove, humming. I know her happiness is a show.

"Yes, and with a bunch of other friends too. Which reminds me, can I borrow your car tonight?" I ask hopefully.

"I don't know, honey, you know how your father is about letting you drive the cars," she says cautiously.

"Everyone else at school has their own car!" I argue.

"Yes, well, we're not everyone else at school. You've been saving up, haven't you? You can go get your car this summer," she counters while chopping some carrots.

She's right; I've been saving my whole life and have almost 15 grand in my account which could buy me a decent new car. I just don't want to settle on something crappy. Plus, my father keeps saying that he'll help me and go with me, but he never does.

"Yeah," I mumble.

"Let's go into your room, Quinn," my mom says, leaving the water on the stove on low.

I'm intrigued and follow her up the stairs and into my room, seeing a black box on my bed with a large, white bow on it. I'm drawn to it and curiously open it to see a beautiful black cocktail dress with one shoulder strap; I'm immediately in love with it.

"I—wow, I love it. What is this for?" I ask breathlessly, delicately touching the fabric.

"I saw it on sale when I was out a few days ago and I could see you in it at the store. I thought maybe you'd want to wear it for your plans tonight," she says hopefully.

"Yes, absolutely. I love it. Thank you," I say and I wrap my arms around her in a hug.

"I love you, mom," I whisper.

"I love you too, Quinnie," she says with teary eyes.

"Oh look at me, I'm a mess! I have to go finish dinner. You're welcome, sweetheart," she responds gently and hurries out of the room, wiping away at the moisture.

My parents rarely give me things as they are firm believers of not spoiling children, or at least my dad is and my mother follows him. I'm always extremely grateful when they do give me anything, especially if it's not for an occasion like a birthday.

While examining this dress it occurs to me just how _amazing_ I'm going to look in it.

Grinning, I grab the second _Harry Potter_ book out of my book shelf and lie down on my bed to start reading and kill some time until the party.

I become so invested in the book that time flies without my notice and I'm ¾ finished with it and it's evidently dark outside; I hear the chirping of crickets through my window. What time is it, anyway? _Ten_? Oh shit, I'm super late!

I move quickly, changing into my new dress and removing all the tags. While loosely curling my hair I multitask to apply some light black eyeliner and silver eye shadow for effect. I choose a pair of black heels to complete the outfit and stand in front of my wall length mirror.

Wow; I look really, _really_ good.

Considering how late I am, I don't even bother asking for permission when I grab the awaiting car keys off the table. There's no way Santana hasn't been drinking by now so I can't call her to pick me up, and I definitely will not miss a party. Besides, my father is probably already asleep after drinking a few glasses of whiskey. At least, I hope so.

In order to drive properly I throw my heels into the passenger's seat and drive as cautiously as possible to Puck's house to avoid any kind of damage to the car. Turning onto Puck's street, I almost hit some girls laughing together in the middle of the road. I honk at them repeatedly and they scatter for me to find a parking spot, which is truly a struggle as there are cars lining both sides of the road. I'm truly surprised nobody ever calls the cops on Puck and ends these parties early.

After turning down the next street I finally find parking, strap on my heels and make the trudge towards his house. It's easy to spot as it's the one shaking from loud music and drunken people everywhere laughing, talking, grinding and occasionally making out. I pull two people kissing apart so I can walk directly in between them, noting that beer pong is being played in various rooms in case I feel like a round. This is what I would imagine a brothel to look like, minus all the obvious sex. No, wait, that would be behind the closed doors on the second floor that I refuse to open.

"Q! You made it!" Santana yells over a few heads and runs over to me with Brittany in tow, hugging me sloppily.

"Of course I made it," I say, gently patting her on the back knowing full well that sober Santana would never touch me.

"Whoa, look at you, _sexy_," she purrs after giving me an uncomfortable once over with her eyes.

"I—uh—"

"QUINN!" Brittany pushes past Santana and practically suffocates me with her hug.

"Fashionably late, I see," Santana ends her seductive scrutiny of me and winks at me, taking me by the wrist and leading me into the kitchen to pour me a drink.

"Santana, I'll just have some water. I took the car and there's no way I'm sleeping anywhere in this house tonight with all these people," I admit with my lip curled in disgust.

"You won't even do one shot with us?" Santana asks indignantly, looking offended.

"Alright, alright. One shot. That will wear off by the time I leave anyway," I placate her.

"That's my girl!" Santana pours three shots of tequila, lines of salt and limes.

"Cheers to being the hottest fucking girls in school!" Santana yells and we clang our glasses together before downing the burning liquid.

I bite into my lime slice quickly, laughing while coughing.

"Quinn, baby! I've missed you!" Unfortunately, Finn spots me. He stumbles into me and lifts me off the ground, reeking of alcohol and clearly trashed.

"Ugh," Santana groans at the sight of him and takes Brittany's hand, leading her to the dance floor area and away from us.

"Hey Finn, wanna dance?" I purr seductively into his ear and pull him towards the dance floor.

I make him stand there and watch me dance on my own, sensually swaying to the music with my arms in the air. When Finn approaches me from behind and grabs my hips pulling me into him, I try to ignore the bulge I feel in his pants and continue dancing.

"Babe, you're so hot. You look, like, amazing, in that dress. Seriously," Finn yells over the music, his hot breath on my skin.

I continue swaying and turn to face him to give him a kiss on the lips. Once I release I pull away from him completely and continue dancing alone, until I make eye contact with Rachel, who is in her own corner dancing in a gorgeous red dress. My heart skips a beat, as I didn't expect her to be in a popular crowd like this. I suppose being friends with Puck gives her an 'in'. She's swaying, which I take as an indicator that she's incredibly drunk. I gulp at the sight of how short the dress is on her, and how amazing her legs are…

"Baby, you want to go upstairs for a bit?" Finn yells into my ear and snaps me out of that particular train of thought.

"Not now, in a bit," I brush him off and keep watching Rachel, who is also watching me. Our eye contact does not break until some guy from the football team comes up behind her and begins trying to force himself on her. I growl at the interruption and his hands on Rachel. She tries pushing him off but it's quite haphazardly as she's drunker than I had anticipated. He pulls her towards the stairs and I watch them go, frozen to my spot. Completely forgetting about Finn, I follow them up the stairs.

"Quinn? Where are you going? Should I come?" he yells after me and I ignore him, waving to signal him to stay.

This kid pulls Rachel into an empty room and shuts the door behind them. The familiar panic from when Rachel was in danger earlier today bursts in my chest and when I jiggle the handle and find the door is locked, it only grows.

"Rachel? Rachel, can you hear me?" I yell outside to no avail.

Fine, keep it locked. That's not going to keep anybody fucking out.

I run downstairs desperately trying to find Finn and am so thankful that it only takes a matter of seconds, seeing how he's a giant.

"Finn, come with me right now," I demand seriously and pull him towards the stairs.

"Finally!" He exclaims excitedly.

"No, idiot, I need your help," I hiss and roll my eyes. He looks confused and disappointed but follows me hastily.

"I think a girl is being…taken advantage of…look, there's a girl in trouble in there but the door is locked!" I shout frantically.

"What do you want me to do about it? I don't have a key," Finn says, scratching at the back of his head looking dumber than ever.

"You're gigantic and can kick down the door? You're useless," I shove him aside and spot Puck down the stairs, beginning to yell for him.

"Puck! PUCK!" He grins at me and runs up the stairs.

"Hey girl, you're looking incredibly sexy," he says seductively and winks at me before Finn punches him in the arm.

"Dude, that's my girlfriend," he growls.

"Finn! Not now! Puck, I think some scumbag took Rachel in there and is forcing himself on her!" I shout hastily knowing that if anyone will understand my desperation, it's Rachel's best friend. Instantly, Puck looks furious.

"Move, Quinn," Puck says fiercely. To my relief, he slams the door with his shoulder twice and it breaks open just in time.

Rachel appears only partially aware of what's going on, gently murmuring "no's" every few moments. This guy is unbuttoning his pants, pushing up Rachel's dress with his hand. I cover my mouth with my hand and am completely horrified, but still the first to speak. My blood is boiling with anger and my fists are clenched.

Seething, I pull him off of her by grabbing his shirt and hiss at his face, "_What the fuck do you think you're doing_?"

For the moment, it feels as though Puck and I are part of the same enraged entity and he's acting on my will. He punches him in the face and totally knocks him unconscious: the other guy never had a chance.

Rachel squirms on the bed still whimpering, "No, stop."

Puck pulls her dress back down and wipes her forehead, "It's okay, Rach."

"Let me take her home, you all have been drinking and I'm fine," I say quietly from the doorway.

"Uh, are you sure?" Puck asks skeptically, knowing I'm not the kind of person who helps people like Rachel, nor does she like me.

"Yeah, I owe her one. Can you just help me get her to the car?" I ask Puck.

"Wait, Quinn, what about us? We were supposed to spend time together tonight," Finn whines and I feel rage burst like a vein inside me. Fighting the urge to rip Finn's head off for being so insensitive, I take a deep breath and count to ten before responding through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, Finn, but I have to make sure she's okay. We'll hang out soon," I say and roughly kiss him on the cheek, walking along side Puck who is carrying Rachel to my car. I can't even imagine how I'd feel if I wasn't watching her and that asshole got away with it. My anger quickly diminishes and is replaced with concern for Rachel when she lets out a light moan.

I fumble for my keys and unlock the car door allowing Puck to rest her in the passenger's seat.

"Thanks for this," he whispers with anxious eyes all on Rachel.

"Don't mention it. No really, don't mention it, _ever_," I warn him.

The lines on his forehead lessen and he cracks a smile before I enter the driver's seat and start the car.

"Okay, Rachel, it's just you and me," I say nervously, looking over her sleeping form and removing my heels.

The problem here is that I don't know how to get to her house and there's no way I can bring her to my own. My parents have very strict rules about sleepovers. Plus, if my father is aware that I took the car without asking for permission, I'm going to be in deep trouble.

Taking a deep breath, I tap her lightly on the arm in an effort to wake her.

"Rachel, wake up," I say softly.

She opens her eyes but is wearing a glazed look; it's clearly the best I've got to work with.

"Can you tell me how to get back to your house?" I ask gently. She squints at me in response as though seeing me for the first time all night.

"Quinn, is that you? Why am I in your car?" she asks, swiftly panicking.

"Easy, Berry. I'm just driving you home and I need you to guide me," I say as calmly as possible.

"Why are you driving me home?" she asks stubbornly.

"Because you're clearly too drunk to drive yourself and nobody else is sober so _lucky me _gets the job," I snap.

"I didn't ask for you help," she says and crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Look, Rachel, please just let me take you home," I plead embarrassingly.

"K," she says softly, closing her eyes once more. Well, that was easy enough.

"No, Rachel! Stay awake!" I prod her.

After a few wrong turns and a constantly dosing navigator, I find my way to the Berry house. Biting my lip, I assess how exactly I'm going to get Rachel in without her father's waking up.

"You're cute when you're deep in thought," Rachel giggles, clearly this is the moment where she stays awake.

"Shut up. How do I get you inside?" I ask, fighting the forming blush on my cheeks.

"Um, well I had a key in my jacket which you neglected to bring with you. There's a spare hidden in one of those fake rocks near the door. Here, let me show you—ah!" She opens the door and falls on her ass when trying to step out. I chuckle at the sight and run around to her side of the car, extending my hand to help her up.

"Lean on me, Berry," I say, words I never thought would escape my lips, placing my arm around her waist and holding her up to help her to the door.

She points to the rock hiding the key and I use it to gently open the front door. Rachel giggles for no reason that I can tell other than that it's quiet and she's intoxicated.

"Rachel, be quiet. Where's your room?" I whisper urgently.

"You just told me to be quiet," she giggles again.

"Don't be a smartass," I hiss and pull her by the arm up the stairs. She stumbles blindly into what I can only assume is her bedroom.

"Okay, Rachel, you're home safely. I'm leaving," I say quietly; I'm relieved that I can leave now knowing she's safe.

"Wait, can you…help me?" she huffs while fumbling with the straps on her heels wearing a frustrated expression.

I sigh and acknowledge how helpless she is in her current condition. Acknowledging that she's had a rough night, I kneel before her and gently remove her heels.

"Where are your pajamas, Berry?" I ask in a hushed voice.

"Bottom drawer," she lazily points to the dresser across the room and falls back on the bed. On her mirror above the dresser, I stop to admire the pictures she has being held by the mirror frame edge. Rachel with Puck, Rachel with who I can only assume are her two dads, Rachel and some girl who looks vaguely familiar before looking rather close…

"Quinn, are you coming before or after I pass out?" she asks, giggling.

"Right, sorry," I say and snap out of it, picking shorts and a t-shirt out of the drawer for her.

She's fumbling with the zipper at the back of her dress and I become impatient.

"Here, let me do it," I say swatting her hands away. I unzip her dress slowly with a hand on her back, careful not to catch anything. She hums lightly as though enjoying the contact. Suddenly, I realize how _warm_ Rachel is at the touch. I blush profusely and let go.

"I suppose you can at least get dressed by yourself, yeah?" I ask, turning around as I hear her stand and let the dress fall to the floor. My cheeks are on fire as I imagine her naked behind me, fumbling to dress herself.

"Quinn, it's safe. You can turn around now," she says softly as she lies back down in bed and shutting her eyes. I pull a blanket over her and she falls asleep instantly, safe and sound at home in her bed.

"Now we're even," I whisper gently and turn off the light. A voice in my brain is nagging at me to leave my number in case she needs anything. However, a much more logical voice is telling me how bad of an idea that is considering that probably destroys my attempt at not being her friend.

I turn the light back on and look over her peacefully sleeping body, thinking about the scumbag from earlier forcing himself on something so fragile and small.

"Oh, fine," I murmur to the universe, which is clearly on Rachel's side.

I rip out a piece of paper out of a notebook on her desk and write: '_If you need anything_: _839-743-1656. -Quinn_' before turning back off the light and exiting the room.

* * *

**A/N: The song is 'Girls Like You' by the Naked and Famous.**

**-Edited for quality 7/30/12**


	3. Risky Business

**A/N: I can't get over all the alerts and favorites! Thank you all so much.**

**Chapter Three: Risky Business**

By Monday afternoon I'm angrily storming into the auditorium without even attempting to hide or be secretive about it. Rachel was playing on the piano until my violent entrance caused her to stop short and look at me. I suddenly feel relaxed, relived actually when I see her alive and well. And my anger almost dissipates entirely…almost.

"Back again, Quinn?" Rachel asks softly, smiling at me from over the top of the piano as I climb the steps. It's only when I place my hands on my hips a few feet away from her that her smile fades.

Seething, I respond sarcastically, "Oh, you're alive? I wouldn't have known. I only saved your ass, drove you home and freakin' changed your clothes for you. It's not like I got a 'thank you' text the next day or even the _day after that_."

She gapes at me with wide eyes, not saying anything for what seems like hours.

After the terrible ordeal on Friday night, I was genuinely concerned with Rachel's well being. I don't feel as though any girl under _any _circumstance deserves to be sexually assaulted. Despite the fact that the guy didn't get to follow through, I'm sure it had to freak Rachel out when she sobered up and found out what happened. Assuming that Rachel found the note that I left her, I was expecting at least a 'thank you' text message at some point over the weekend. Alas, I grew more and more irritated as my weekend went by and my inbox was still Rachel-less. By Sunday evening I knew I wouldn't be receiving anything from Rachel and it infuriated me. Didn't I deserve some recognition, or at least to know if she was alright? Instead, _Puck_ texted me to tell me that he went by to see Rachel on Saturday night and she's doing just fine. Not Rachel, Puck.

Rachel shakily pushes her hair behind her right ear and blushes fiercely, looking down at the piano keys and pushes one which releases a note that reverberates throughout the auditorium. She takes a deep breath and turns toward me.

"You—you wanted me to text you?" she fidgets with her hands and stutters. Her vulnerability draws me closer to her, but after one step forward I stop myself.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I just would have liked to know you were okay…after everything," I tell her and she nods in understanding.

"I did give you my number, you know. The least you could have done is say thanks," I say, and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

"I figured that was a prank number and I'd be calling some creep in a crack house," she admits.

"I've only ever used a crack house for a prank once, and that's definitely not up for discussion. I gave you the real thing," I respond sincerely, maintaining eye contact.

"Why would you do that? You hate me. I'm just a Lima loser," she whispers quietly, eyes back down on the piano keys.

"True, but I didn't want you to be alone," I say and add after a moment of inner struggle, "And maybe I don't hate you all that much."

I release a sigh and sit down on the floor looking up at her on her bench. She's wearing a shocked expression and hesitates before saying, "I am grateful, you know, for everything you did. I don't remember a lot of last night, but I do remember bits of you…and Puck filled me in on everything else. I can't say I believed him at first; I thought he was joking. After he insisted I knew he was telling the truth and I was a mixture of grateful, confused and embarrassed."

"Why embarrassed?" I ask, while tilting my head in confusion.

"Because I allowed myself to get so drunk that I ended up where I did. You know, I never drink, I just thought it was a good time to let go. Look where that got me," she confesses and rolls her eyes.

I hum in acknowledgement and then ask, "Why confused?"

"Don't you know the answer to that one?" she counters.

"No? Otherwise I wouldn't be asking," I respond sarcastically and lean back on my hands.

"Because out of everyone in this entire town you're the last person I expected to take care of me, ever, in a million years," she answers abrasively.

I do my best to remain expressionless, aside from a shameful blush on my cheeks.

"I guess you don't know me at all," I mumble at her.

"I know you keep coming back here during your lunch periods," she tells me softly, gazing into my eyes warmly.

"I already told you, it's peaceful in here," I say defensively.

"So it has nothing to do with me?" she asks incredulously.

In this moment, with her eyes so intently fixed on my own, with my heart rate so sped up, I gulp and find it impossible to lie to her.

"I…didn't say that," I admit in defeat.

"Are we going to be friends?" she asks hopefully, and the glint in her eyes is like a knife in my heart.

"No, we're not," I murmur dejectedly.

The hopeful glint quickly fades and she plays a few notes on the piano before nodding miserably. The glint returns when she asks, "But you're going to keep returning here during lunch?"

"Maybe, you'll have to wait and see," I tease and she grins.

"And you—you're in glee, yeah?" she asks me.

"Yes, Berry. I'm in glee," I sigh and don't bother trying to fight the smile tugging at my lips.

The resulting smile beaming on her face is beautiful, and it's quiet for a few moments before she begins playing something beautiful. I close my eyes wistfully and lean up against the piano stool feeling extremely comfortable.

When she finishes the song and the last key reverberates throughout the empty auditorium, I ask, "How long have you been playing?"

"That's a tough one. I feel like I've always been playing and singing. I think I started when I was 5, at least," she says and touches a few keys.

"I always wanted to play an instrument. My father thought it would be a waste of money to give me lessons or provide me with an instrument," I admit and then mentally chastise myself for opening up to her so easily.

"Would you like me to teach you?" she asks softly and looks at me gently when I turn around and we make eye contact, I hesitate to respond.

"Come here," she says and scoots over on the bench, patting the area beside her. I sit down awkwardly next to her and when our shoulders rub up against each other it sends electricity down my arm. I shift away from her to prevent that from happening again and try to distance myself from her, but she grabs my hand and places my fingers on the proper keys. I can't help but notice how incredibly soft her hands are and how gentle she is with my fingers; I get butterflies from the contact.

"These are the keys C, D, E, and F…" she says while placing my fingers individually on each of them. After ten minutes of showing me notes she tells me to play the order she has provided for me and I mess up.

"Sorry, I'm not very good at this," I chuckle lightly.

"These things take time. You have a beautiful laugh, Quinn," she says matter-of-factly, facing me.

I turn my face to see her and it only occurs to me now how close we are to one another, our faces only mere inches apart and I can feel her warm breath on my face. She smells like something familiar, like vanilla. Her eyes shift downwards and remain on my lips for a few seconds which causes my breath to hitch. An unfamiliar fire burns in the pit of my stomach and I jump up out of the stool immediately, not used to the sensation. Fortunately, the bell rings in a opportune fashion and I'm able to make an escape.

"I, uh, have to get to class. Thanks for the lesson. I'll see you in glee, Berry," I tell her, tripping over the bench.

"Are you okay?" she asks me worriedly.

"Yeah—yeah, just an accident. Thanks again!" I yell and hurry through the auditorium towards the exit.

"Anytime," she whispers bewilderedly, watching me go.

"Hey, wait! Am I still allowed to take you up on that texting offer?" she shouts after me.

"Text me and find out," I say, while opening the door to my freedom from these feelings.

_What the hell was that_? I thought the end goal was to stay as far away from Rachel Berry as possible and _not_ become her friend. I allowed myself to become closer to her today on that stage and I gave her access to parts of my personal life. I was drawn to her out of concern from this weekend but honestly, I just wanted to see her. My fingers are still tingling from her delicate touch. _Everything about her is so gentle_, unlike Finn. My fists clench in an attempt to stop the tingling.

I need to find Finn and be a good, normal girlfriend. After minutes of looking around, I easily spot him over everybody's heads down the hall.

"Finn! Hey," I shout to him and after he walks over to me I lean upwards and kiss him, which he responds wholeheartedly.

"Hey, babe. Where have you been during lunch lately?" he asks sadly, frowning.

"I've started, uh, doing this extracurricular activity during lunch for my college applications," I lie quickly, hoping he doesn't question me further.

"What kind of activity?" he asks and grabs my hand to walk me to glass.

_Damn it, Finn, now is not the time to start being a good boyfriend_!

"Tutoring. I'm helping this girl in my English class," I lie further but really, it's not entirely a lie. Rachel _is _in fact from my English class.

"Oh, that's cool. Am I driving you home today? Can we hang out after practice?" he asks hopefully and it reminds me of Rachel hoping we could be friends.

"Sorry, Finn, but Coach Sylvester cancelled practice today for some kind of procedure she's getting done. She won't be here all week and technically as captain, I'm supposed to come up with some kind of work out in her absence. I decided though that for this afternoon the girls will exercise on their own time. I could seriously use a break," I say with a forced yawn.

A group of nerdy kids are bonding together around a locker that happens to be directly in the way of my classroom and they're preventing me from entering.

"Move! Get out of my way, freaks," I hiss at them and my lip curls as I push my way through into my room.

* * *

Halfway through my usual doodling I'm interrupted by my phone vibrating from a number I don't recognize.

**839-825-3030**: Thank you!

I suppress a laugh, knowing that this must be Rachel and I immediately add it to my contacts.

**Me**: You're two and a half days late.

**Rachel**: Better late than never!

**Me**: Cliché much?

**Rachel**: I watch a lot of movies and read a lot of books.

**Me**: What's your favorite?

**Rachel**: Movie or book? Funny Girl is my favorite movie, hands down. And the Harry Potter series are my favorite books.

**Me**: I meant movie, I already knew Harry Potter was your favorite.

**Rachel**: You're starting to know my favorite things, Quinn. That's dangerously approaching friendship territory.

**Me**: Shut up.

I blush from the interaction and briefly return to doodling, wondering what the worst thing that could come from her and I being friends knowing full well that I shouldn't even be entertaining these thoughts. I keep fighting what seems to be a losing battle with Rachel Berry.

**Rachel**: Today's glee is going to be fun. It's girl's week :) I'll see you there!

Oh, shit. What's girl's week? Does that mean I'm going to have to perform? Oh God, _no_. Please, no. I'll sway in the background or something.

**Me**: Rachel, what's girl's week? How do you even know?

**Rachel**: I bothered Mr. Schue to find out. You're just going to have to wait and see!

She's teasing me as I teased her in the auditorium, which really is only fair, but hardly an acceptable answer.

**Me**: Berry, answer me!

Naturally, she doesn't and after class Santana and Brittany are waiting for me so we can go to glee together.

"What's up, bitch?" Santana asks.

"That's appropriate," I respond sarcastically and snort before continuing, "We actually have to perform in glee today, I think," I groan.

"Really?" Brittany's eyes are glowing and she's thrilled.

"According to Berry it's '_girl's week_'," I say disdainfully.

"_According to Berry_? Yo, when the _hell_ were you speaking to Berry?" Santana narrows her eyes at me and examines my head to seemingly make sure I wasn't hit by something.

Oh, God. I didn't even realize I said that and if I'm going to be talking to Rachel from now on I have to be more careful about not letting anyone find out.

"I passed her in the hallway and she told me," I shrug.

"Uh huh. Well, here goes nothing," Santana says and walks first into the room.

My eyes instantly land on Rachel in the top row and when she's certain that no one else is looking in her direction other than me, she smiles at me. I give her a tiny responding smirk of my own before sitting down next to Santana.

"Hey guys, how's everybody doing today?" Mr. Schue asks, walking in happily and everyone smiles at him giving him various friendly greetings. That is, aside from Santana and me.

"I have some exciting news. It's time for our second annual girl's week!" he shouts excitedly.

The girls who have been in glee club long enough to know what 'girl's week' entails cheer delightedly and the guys groan in complaint. I remain silent, hoping that someone will explain what this means without me having to ask and look foolish.

"For all our new members and our old members in case any of you forgot, 'girl's week' is a week during the year where the girls pick a famous female artist and choose songs to perform by Friday. This means that you have all week to practice for your performance and you have the guys at your disposal for any needs that you may have. This includes: back up dancers and singers, male leads, rapping, etc.; anything that you may need a guy for, you can grab one of them and they can work with you," Mr. Schue tells us with a sadistic grin at the guy's displeasure.

"The winning group gets a free dinner on me at Breadsticks!" he adds excitedly.

Mr. Schue doesn't suck that bad, I guess, and I'm grinning right along with the other females. The light buzz I feel before a cheerleading competition is running along my skin. Is that…excitement I'm feeling for glee club?

"Now guys, you shouldn't moan and groan about this. You may even enjoy whatever jobs the girl's need you for. Here's the catch and your_ favorite _part: next week is guy's week, which means that the roles will be reversed!" he yells and the guys cheer.

"Hell yeah!" Puck yells from behind me and high fives Sam.

"The first thing we need to decide is which female artist you're going to choose. I know last year was Lady Gaga and while that was a lot of fun, no Kurt, we can't do it again," Mr. Schue says and eyes Kurt warily.

I turn around and see Kurt crossing his arms grumpily; I guess he likes being on the girl's team.

"Any ideas?" he asks, looking amongst the girls for a response.

"I think we should do someone sexy, like Shakira," Santana of all people speaks up next to me and I'm completely mind-blown, gaping at her. Of all the people in this room to offer suggestions I can hardly believe she is the first.

"We should do a strong female lead, like Whitney Houston," Mercedes counters.

"Girl, I don't know you, but these hips _don't lie_. I'd like to see all of you in here still standing after watching me perform Shakira," Santana purrs and smirks.

"I think Shakira sounds like a fun challenge for us, Mr. Schue. I'm with Santana," Rachel agrees from a few rows behind me. My heart flutters at the sound of her voice.

"Let's take a vote. All in favor of Shakira?" Mr. Schue asks and looks around the room, counting the hands raised.

Surprisingly, Mercedes doesn't put up a fight and it was a unanimous vote for Shakira, including Kurt's vote.

"Awesome! That was way better than expected. I brought the first aid kit just in case things got out of hand like last year…" Mr. Schue says, glaring at Kurt.

"I said I was sorry last year, Mr. Schue. Don't get in the way of me and my Gaga," Kurt responds sassily and I chuckle at him, positive I'm going to like him.

"The next thing we need to do is form groups to work with, unless you wish to perform solo!" Mr. Schue says, giving us a solo option which none of us take.

Without hesitating I raise my hand to submit my group and he looks startled, as he has yet to hear me say a word to him.

"Yes, uh, Quinn?" he asks nervously.

"Santana, Brittany and I will be a group," I tell him matter-of-factly and they nod next to me instinctively.

Kurt, Mercedes and Tina are discussing a plan while I can't help but notice Rachel sitting alone in the back corner. I feel uncomfortable because I don't want her to be alone but there's no way I can ask her to join us. I bite my lip praying that someone will join her.

"Mr. Schue?" Rachel speaks up curiously.

"Yeah, Rachel?" he answers comfortably, obviously use to sharing a rapport with her.

"I'm going solo—kind of. I'm calling Sam and Puck to be my two male partners while I have the chance before someone else takes them," she says with a grin, without asking, while Puck and Sam high five again as though they've been the first chosen for kickball in gym class. I roll my eyes and ignore the jealousy in the pit of my stomach. Of course she wouldn't want to be in my group, that's practically suicide.

"I think that's fair," Mr. Schue nods and smiles.

"Wait, is it fair that Rachel calls our two best male leads in one shot?" Mercedes huffs like a true diva and challenges Mr. Schue.

"I think that because we all have separate groups and she's solo, they're good where they are and you should leave her be," I say commandingly to Mercedes and narrow my eyes at her. daring her to question me.

No one in the classroom makes a sound, waiting to see how Mercedes will respond to being challenged by me. Especially since I just stood up for _Rachel Berry_, the girl who just last week she was singing a song about how vain I am. My eyes shift to see how Rachel is responding to this and while her cheeks are light pink, she's trying to remain expressionless.

As no one says anything after my interjection, it becomes clear that no one is going to argue and Rachel gets to have Sam and Puck. Everyone slowly begins discussing their own personal group ideas and slowly forgetting all about her.

"Shakira is my thing, being a sexy Latina. I want to be the lead," Santana says firmly, looking at me for acceptance and snapping me out of my thought process.

I nod in agreement and say, "Absolutely," allowing her to grin in relief. I don't want to be a lead singer anyway, especially not in glee club.

"I want to do our own version of 'Hips Don't Lie' where we all dance the same routine at the same time and you're my back up singers and dancers. Also, in every part Wyclef Jean exists, I want Brittany to do her own rendition of it," she says and looks over at a startled Brittany.

"San, I know we're dating, but I'm not a boy. I don't have a penis," she says, frowning sadly at her vagina.

"Britz, shh, I don't want you to be a boy. I just want you to sing male lyrics. Can you do that for me?" she asks Brittany hopefully and she grins in relief, stars flowing in her eyes.

"That sounds fun! Can I come up with the dance routine?" Brittany asks hopefully and I can see how it's easy for Santana to love her. Hell, I love Brittany. Not in the same way, of course, but she's worked her magic on me nonetheless.

"Duh!" Santana grins and Brittany jumps into her arms, about to kiss her.

"Girls, for the love of God, _please_ remember the rules," I hiss and shake my head, wondering why I always have to be the parent.

"Q, don't be a buzz kill. It's not like I'm fucking her right here. Brit-Brit, I want the routine to be a lot like Shakira, and use our hips, okay?" Santana asks, releasing Brittany.

"Awesome!" she beams.

"Mr. Schue?" Mercedes asks, causing us all to quiet down.

"Yes?" he answers.

"Can we use Mike and Artie? If that's okay with everyone else," Mercedes asks for her group and the guys are visibly happy that they're going to be useful, as they were arm wrestling to kill time.

I glance back at Rachel who is whispering animatedly to Sam and to a surprisingly attentive Puck. Her eyes are wide with excitement and she's gesturing excitedly. My heart clenches when I realize the undeniable truth that whatever she does is going to be amazing.

She feels my eyes on her and looks down to make eye contact with me, hesitating with her gesturing. She winks at me quickly and then returns to her planning with the guys. The wink brings back the butterflies in my stomach that I tried to kill earlier today.

"When you're done eye-fucking Berry, I have some more things to discuss," Santana says to me sardonically.

"Wha—what? Santana, don't say shit like that. I was definitely _not_," I scowl at her viciously.

I listen to Santana go through a new ideas and nod where necessary before my phone vibrates a few minutes later and I pull it out of my bag to check it.

**Rachel**: Eye-fucking?

I turn completely red and start coughing, responding hastily.

**Me**: Stay out of this, Berry. Mind your business.

**Rachel**: I would, if Santana wasn't ridiculously loud.

I hear her chuckle from behind me and I dramatically toss my phone back into my bag so Rachel knows I'm done texting her.

"I'd like to get started on practice today after school if that's okay, considering we don't have cheerleading practice," Santana says, once again pulling my attention away from Rachel.

"What's the rush?" I ask, quickly turn my head towards her.

"I want us to do this right. We are the most perfect, badass, sexy girls in school after all," Santana replies.

"San, you're the sexiest," Brittany whispers _a little too loudly _into Santana's ear and she blushes, knowing I heard.

"You both are going to be the death of me," I admit painfully, shaking my head.

"Cliché much?" Santana retorts.

"I suppose I just watch too many movies," I counter, sticking my tongue out and hoping that Rachel would hear me using her line. I turn around subtly and see a smile playing on her lips, knowing she heard me. The final bell rings signifying the end of the day and interrupting our group discussions.

"Whatever you say, Q. Let's get the hell out of this place. Practice at my place? Nobody is home, per usual," Santana asks.

"Yeah, definitely," I answer while flattening my Cheerio's skirt down and motioning to grab my bag. Rachel is gliding down the steps towards me and we don't look at each other, being that Santana and Brittany are right next to me, but her left arm lightly brushes mine as she walks by and I know that was her way of acknowledging me. The tingles appear again where her arm brushed mine and I rub at the spot, hoping to make them disappear.

"I'm serious, are you on something? You're acting so loco today, girl," Santana asks curiously, watching me scratch my arm so raw it could bleed.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about, Santana. You need to relax," I say and quickly drop my arm, leading us out of the room.

"Quinn?" _Shit_. Finn is walking towards me and the three of us turn to face him.

"Ugh, not Finnocence," Santana whines and rolls her eyes at his appearance. Finn, thankfully, completely ignores her rudeness.

"What were you three doing in the band room, isn't the glee club in there?" he questions us, clearly puzzled.

"Wow, spot on, you're really a genius, aren't you Frankenteen?" Santana asks sarcastically, glaring at him.

"I don't get it. Are you—are you three in _glee club_?" he asks bewildered and we all cross our arms defensively.

"And now he's two for two. Idiot," Santana mumbles under her breath, making me _almost _laugh.

Ironically, Puck walks out and Finn gapes at him and asks, "You too? You're in the glee club too, dude?"

"Yeah, man. I have been for over a year. Where the hell have you been?" Puck laughs and punches Finn in the shoulder before walking off, leaving Finn scratching at the back of his head with his brows furrowed.

"I was under the impression the glee club is for losers," he says, frowning.

"Do I _look _like a loser to you, Lurch?" Santana struts away from him and pulls Brittany with her.

"Hey, let's go, blondie!" Santana yells at me over her shoulder.

"Sorry, Finn, we have to go practice. I'll text you!" I tell him quickly and kiss him, running after Santana and Brittany.

"But I thought you didn't have practice!" he shouts after me down the hall.

I turn my head to look back at him and respond when I slam right into someone and knock their books everywhere.

"Ow! Jesus, Watch where you're fuc—_Rachel_?" I go from anger to surprise in a matter of seconds. Rachel is staring at me with wide eyes, knowing that when this happened last week I reacted rather poorly and she's clearly anticipating a similar response. She blushes and hurriedly bends over to pick up her books, mumbling about it somehow being her fault. I quickly look around to make sure the hallway is empty to help her pick up her things, much to Rachel's surprise.

"Sorry, Rachel," I say softly and she gapes at me, stopping moving entirely.

"You know, you've got to stop being so shocked when I'm nice to you. It makes it entirely way too much fun. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some glee practicing to get to," I say with a smirk, handing her the books I collected for her from off the ground.

Her eyes remain on me as I run after Santana and Brittany. A laugh bubbles up in my throat and escapes my lips thinking about the shocked face Rachel was wearing. I love doing that to her.

I find the girls already waiting for me in Santana's car and climb into the backseat before she speeds out of the parking lot. One of these days I'm sure she's going to hit someone, as it seems like she hardly looks where she's going. I suppose it's her way of scaring the losers. Most people are smart enough to stay as far away from her car as possible when they see Santana walking even remotely close to it. She's a speed racer, alright.

* * *

As soon as we arrive at Santana's she has one of the help who is constantly in her house bring out some snacks for us to eat and we work on memorizing our lines before tackling any kind of dance moves. Astoundingly, Brittany absorbs her lyrics rather quickly and moves straight into choreographing our moves. My phone beeps from where I left it in the foyer and I go to check it, assuming that it's Finn and knowing that I haven't been a good girlfriend to him lately. I'm pleasantly surprised when it's Rachel and I grin at my phone.

**Rachel**: How's practice coming along?

I realize that it's been hours since we left the school and I last bumped into Rachel, knowing full well that I should be heading home soon so my father doesn't freak out at my late absence. I text Rachel back first, though.

**Quinn**: We're gonna win, hands down :)

**Rachel**: No one ever beats me. And when I win you'll be my date to Breadsticks.

**Quinn**: I'm much harder to get than that, Berry.

The butterflies in my stomach reappear in full force and it only occurs to me now that I'm flirting with Rachel Berry. _Impossible_. I'm making a new friend and being _friendly_ with Rachel Berry. That's all.

**Rachel**: I have no doubt.

In an effort to erase Rachel from my thoughts, and whether or not she was flirting with me, I delete the texts from my inbox and don't text her back. Heat rises in my cheeks and my breath becomes shorted, panic shooting inside my chest. I need to text Finn and erase Rachel from my mind for good.

**Me**: Let's hang out this week, I feel like we haven't had any alone time :(

Finn texts me back in a matter of seconds while I'm putting my shoes on and preparing to leave.

**Finn**: Babe, you've read my mind. Come over tomorrow after school?

**Me**: Absolutely.

"San, Brit, I've gotta go before I get my ass kicked at home. Drive me?" I ask Santana specifically and jerk my head towards the door.

"Alright, alright, keep your panties on," Santana says, irritated, and separates from a pouting Brittany as she stops kissing her and helps her up.

Santana speedily arrives at my house and drops me off with a quick goodbye knowing that she'll see me in the morning and she'd like to get back to her alone time with Brittany.

* * *

After entering the house and making sure that my parents don't plan on murdering me in my sleep, I do some homework and practice the lyrics to 'Hips Don't Lie' hoping to memorize them before I fall asleep. When I finally do crawl into bed at the end of my night I vow to myself to end this cycle of weirdness between Rachel and myself starting in the morning. I refuse, no matter how much I may want to, to go see Rachel in the auditorium tomorrow. I wince, knowing that I truly do want to and was looking forward to it.

For the sake of my sanity, I have to stay away from Rachel Berry and remind myself that she's nothing to me.

_Yeah, you keep telling yourself that._ Shut up, brain.

With that, I grown into my pillow and try to fall asleep.

* * *

**5 minutes** into our lunch period and I'm tapping my fingers impatiently on my lunch table, fighting the urge to go visit Rachel.

_I can do this, I can do this, 55 minutes to go, I can do this, don't get up._

This is where I belong, in my rightful place at the head of the lunch table with the people I belong with. _This is where I need to stay_, I'm sure of it and so I look around at the table for something…God, anything really, to distract me.

Santana and Brittany are whispering lovingly to one another and Finn is telling me about some football play he pulled in practice the night before that I'm hardly paying attention to. These details only require occasional praise on my behalf.

"Oh wow, Finn, that's wonderful," I say half-heartedly and my brain wanders to none other than Rachel.

_I wonder what Rachel is doing and if she's disappointed that I didn't show up_.

**9 minutes**

"Are you okay, babe? You seem distracted," Finn says, gently rubbing my shoulders wearing a concerned look.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine," I placate him and cease my tapping at once, still eyeing the clock out of the corner of my eye. Why won't time go any faster?

_Is Rachel singing today? Am I missing it?_

"Q, did you practice the lyrics more last night?" Santana asks me while playing footsie with Brittany.

"Of course I did, we're going to be perfect. Duh," I say nonchalantly and she beams at me.

_I can do this._

_Will she be mad at me for abandoning her?_

_I never promised I'd go…I just gave her a maybe that sounded a whole hell of a lot like yes._

My skin is itching and I feel hot, very anxious to run to the auditorium.

_Don't you fucking dare, Quinn_.

**13 minutes**

"I thought you started tutoring some girl from your English class during lunch periods, not that it's not great to be with you," Finn says happily but with a question located somewhere in there.

My foot is bouncing, tapping along the floor.

_Don't you dare move!_

"Wait, did you ask me something?" I ask Finn curiously, realizing he was waiting for an answer.

"Yeah…why aren't you tutoring?" he asks suspiciously with his brows furrowed, obviously confused by my behavior.

"Tutoring? Since when do I—oh yeah. Um…" Damn it.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks me warily.

"Does Finnocence speak the truth? Are you a tutor now, Quinn? Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?" Santana asks and narrows her eyes at me, giving me her full attention.

"I—I, yeah, I tutor one girl sometimes for my college applications. What's it to you?" I snap and she recoils in surprise.

_Rachel, Rachel, Rachel_.

**15 minutes**

I look at the clock and my stomach lurches when I notice how much time has gone by; I need to get to her.

_Don't you dare fucking move!_

"I forgot to do… something," I say noncommittally and jump out of my seat.

"Wait, Quinn, what?" Finn and Santana both yell after me but I'm already gone out the cafeteria door and on my way to the auditorium.

Outside the door I close my eyes, my fingers clasped tightly around the handle itching to turn it.

_Go inside, you're already here._

_I thought you said you weren't going to come today._

_Get your ass back to the cafeteria._

_Open the door!_

I take a deep breath and open the door to a silent auditorium. Extreme disappointment doesn't even begin to cover how I feel, not to mention a tiny bit of relief. My heart leaps when I spot Rachel sitting alone at the back of the stage with a book.

"Rachel?" my quiet voice reverberates throughout the auditorium and she jumps up to her feet.

"Quinn! I didn't think you were coming!" she shouts excitedly.

"Yeah, well, neither did I," I admit while walking to her set up. She's laid out a blanket next to the wall she's leaning up against.

She sits down beaming at me and holds out her hand to help pull me down next to her. It's a bit much for me, so I gracefully decline the hand, but sit next to her regardless while she passes me some grapes.

"Thank you," I say softly while plucking a few off the vine.

"What made you change your mind?" Rachel asks me curiously and nudges me on the shoulder.

"You. I guess, I don't know," I tell her truthfully, staring out into the empty auditorium before us but feeling complete almost; much better than I did before.

"Surely your friends have been wondering where you've been escaping to these last few days during lunch," Rachel insists, understanding that my friends must be suspicious.

"I've been telling them that I'm tutoring some girl in my—well, our English class," I say, looking at her nervously.

"So this is like, a secret then?" she asks quietly, delicately placing a finger on my arm which produces goosebumps.

I give her one swift nod because words have escaped me and she pulls away from me to look down at her hands disapprovingly.

"God, Rachel, this is the way things are. By all accounts I shouldn't even be talking to you; I shouldn't even want to talk to you. I couldn't even make it twenty fucking minutes in that cafeteria before running here to see you!" I exclaim, looking at her while she refuses to look at me.

"What's your favorite movie?" she asks softly.

"I—what?" I'm taken aback when I realize that she's not yelling at me.

"Your favorite movie?" she repeats while smiling, only a twinge of sadness left in her eyes.

"Uh, is this between you and me?" I ask her with a raised eyebrow, expecting confidentiality.

"Who would I tell? This is a secret, _remember_?" she leans forward and whispers for dramatic effect, making me giggle before responding, "I love comic book movies."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," Rachel smirks.

"Don't make me say it again, you ass," I playfully hit her on the arm and she grins.

"Who's your favorite super hero?" she asks with interest.

"Batman. He's just so dark and real, I don't know," I respond, playing with the grape vine.

"You wanna know something?" she asks lightheartedly.

"Yeah, I _really_ do," I admit.

"I love comic book movies. Captain America is my favorite," she says brightly.

"Of course you like the toolbag who is completely full of himself," I scoff and roll my eyes.

"Are you kidding? Captain America stands up for what's good and right in the world. Iron Man is the narcissistic one!" she argues.

"Oh, hush, Captain America has a stick up his ass and Iron Man has every right to be a narcissist, he rocks! He's a '_genius billionaire playboy philanthropist_', or did you not see the _Avengers_?" I tease and throw the vine at her.

"Did I not—are you out of your mind, Quinn Fabray? I saw it three times," she says proudly.

"I can't believe we're even having this argument," I chuckle.

"Is this different for you?" she asks, probably meaning for it to be a less loaded question than it turned out to be.

"Yes," I answer truthfully.

"Do you—would you like—do you want to come over tonight?" Rachel manages to choke the question out quietly and I bite my lip because my heart is screaming 'yes' at my mouth.

"I don't think that would be appropriate," I tell her against my every desire in me and sigh in defeat.

"Why not? We can watch a movie and you can look at my book collection!" she pushes.

_I always wanted someone to talk to about books_.

"Because we can't be friends," I choke out.

"We can be secret friends," Rachel declares matter-of-factly.

I whip my head towards her and eye her skeptically noting that her expression is confident and she sounds convicted.

"You would do that to be friends with me? I'm not even a good person…and I wouldn't be able to acknowledge you publicly," I tell her frankly which causes her to wince but nod.

"I think you can be a good person if you want to be, and sometimes even when you don't want to be it slips out," she whispers and smiles warmly before asking, "So will you?" She places her hand on top of mine and I jump but don't remove it.

_Say no!_

"Yeah, okay Berry," I concede and fight back a smile.

"Nice," she grins in excitement while trying to maintain a cool exterior.

"You're _such_ a dork," I roll my eyes but don't fight this smile.

She holds my hand tighter and my heart speeds up, I feel like it might fly away. I allow it for a few nice moments before gently pulling my hand out from under hers and using it to play with another grape vine, just for an excuse to have something to do with it.

"I'm going to have to sneak into your car and not get caught. This is going to be tough," I admit with my brows furrowed, deep in thought.

Rachel suddenly perks up with an idea, "Listen, take this," she pulls her hoodie over her head and is wearing only a white tank top underneath, revealing her toned body. I gape at her briefly and my mouth goes dry.

"I'm assuming you have a pair of pants as a back up somewhere in your locker?" she asks and looks at me expectantly.

"Well, yeah, I always keep a pair of jeans in there. Why—"

"After Glee ditch Santana and Brittany, change into your jeans and my hoodie and run out to my car in the parking lot. It's not like you don't know which one it is. Nobody would ever think it was you," she finishes telling me her plan rather smugly and is clearly impressed with herself.

"This all sounds like a load of risky business to me," I say, shaking my head and she looks at me sadly. "That doesn't mean I'm not coming! That just means it's risky," I quickly try to placate her.

"Who is this girl in front of me? The Quinn Fabray I met last week wasn't afraid of anything!" she exclaims and grins mischievously at me.

_Yeah, well, I had a clear idea of who I was before I met you. The Quinn from last week wouldn't have even considered voluntarily spending time with you before_.

Naturally, I don't say that out loud and instead shrug my shoulders.

"Maybe you just don't know me as well as you thought," I tease.

"So I've heard. I guess we've just gotta get through glee practice," Rachel says and takes a deep breath.

The bell rings and sounds throughout the auditorium and I have to force myself to stand up, desperately not wanting to leave. I reach out and offer my hand to Rachel in an effort to help her up. Unlike when I rejected hers, she grabs mine and I pull her up a little too eagerly so she trips into me and blushes furiously.

"Sorry," she whispers and runs her fingers through her hair, turning her head down and away from the close proximity to my face.

"It's okay; I'll see you in glee. Afterwards just wait in your car, okay? I'll find you," I give her a wink and run out the door, dodging Santana and Finn around a corner to avoid their suspicious interrogations.

I release the breath I'm holding when I make it to class undiscovered by them. I shouldn't have left the cafeteria like I did, it's like I was asking for the both of them to be suspicious about me. From now on I have to be a lot more careful when it comes to spending time with Rachel.

_I accept that I cannot stop, so I will make it work and not get caught_.

More than anything else, I want the bell to ring so I can go to glee. I'm anxious for my hang out with Rachel. It could even be…fun. I know I should be nauseated by that concept. Alas, I'm okay with the desire to be her friend as long as no one finds out.

* * *

Running into glee I have to catch my breath, noticing that Santana and Brittany are there before me giving me the third degree. At least Santana is and Brittany is cutely attempting to furrow her brows.

"Why'd you bail at lunch?" Santana asks me cautiously.

"Because I had totally forgotten about tutoring and I was late," I answer matter-of-factly, having practiced the excuse in my mind.

"And since when are you a tutor?" she continues.

"I just started a few days ago. I figured it would look good on college applications. Do you _approve_?" I ask sarcastically.

She remains eye contact with me before shrugging and returning her attention to Brittany. I look up and Rachel winks at me before continuing her conversation with Puck, allowing butterflies to erupt in my stomach and I sit down in the hopes of quelling them.

"Alright, everybody, you know the drill. Practice all week! Go to individual empty spaces throughout the school and practice your routines. If anyone gives you crap for it, tell them I gave you the okay. And don't forget—one of you can stay put and use this room!" Mr. Schue walks in and rubs his hands together excitedly, Tina being the first to speak up.

"Dibs on the room! I call dibs!" she grins at her group.

"Okay, well then we call the auditorium," Rachel stands gracefully with Puck and Sam on either side of her and I feel an ache of jealousy that they get to go with her.

"Unsurprisingly, girls, we get the gym," I say with a commanding vibe and Santana and Brittany follow me out, walking with our heads held high down the opposite end of the hallway as Rachel.

We establish that we have the singing part more or less down after the constant repetition, so Brittany shows us part of the routine she's come up with so far. Her choreography has a lot of movement in the hips; Shakira would be proud, Santana certainly is. If I wasn't a state champion cheerleader, these moves would certainly be difficult.

Santana and I try and follow Brittany's lead the best we can; we're exhausted and sweaty by the time we're done with the hour.

"I'm really impressed, B. That routine is great," I admit to her proudly in between gulps of water.

"You're amazing, Brit-Brit," Santana whispers before kissing her on the cheek.

"I'm the unicorn of dancing!" Brittany exclaims and beams.

"Hell yeah you are, girl," Santana grins and picks her up off the ground, spinning her around.

"I'm going to shower in the locker room. Uh, separately from you guys. I'll give you your space," I say awkwardly before running to my locker to grab my jeans and Rachel's hoodie.

Ditching them was easy enough when implying that they would be having sex in the shower as they know I try to avoid witnessing that at all costs. I myself shower quickly, shoving my uniform into my bag and wearing the jeans and hoodie Rachel and I agreed upon. I'm overcome with a certain scent, stopping to smell the hoodie and realizing that it smells just like Rachel's perfume. _Vanilla_, beautiful. I shake my head and snap myself out of it, pulling my hair back into a pony tail and throwing the hood over my head. I carefully run through the back exit of the empty gym, doing my best to avoid being noticed by anyone.

Really, I look like a fucking criminal.

I shake my head in disapproval and look around the corner, merging into the crowd of students entering cars. I quickly spot Rachel's black, older Mustang and slide into the front seat without taking my hood down.

Rachel eyes me up and down before letting out an enthusiastic laugh.

"Let's get you out of here before someone accuses you of being a drug dealer," she snorts.

"Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?" I ask, as we're pulling out of the lot.

"Yours!" we both shot at the same time and start laughing. After exiting the lot I let my hood down, release my pony tail and run my hand through my wet hair.

"It was definitely your idea to wear the inconspicuous clothes," I comment.

"Yeah, but it was your idea to come over in the first place," she counters.

"You're the one who asked me to come over!" I argue.

"You said we could be secret friends, you started it!" she yells.

"_You_ asked _me_ if we could be secret friends!" I've got her there and she knows it.

"You started coming to the auditorium and being nice to me," she grumbles.

"It's hard to be mean to you," I admit.

"So who wins?" she asks, still giggling lightly.

"I lost track," I tell her while looking out the window with a smile on my face.


	4. Jackie

**A/N: Holy crap, guys, 150 alerts and favorites! I love you all! I'm so excited that you love this story as much as I love writing it.**

**Chapter Four: Jackie**

Eyeing me skeptically from inside her doorway, Rachel asks, "Are you going to stand there all night?"

I've been standing on her porch carefully examining the inside of her house for a few moments now, somewhat anxious to enter. Her question causes me to blush and storm inside, shutting the door behind me and allowing my eyes to scan the walls. Sure, I came in here briefly last week when I brought Rachel home at a ridiculous hour of the night, but it was dark then and I barely noticed my surroundings.

Now, in the daylight, the Berry house is unlike anything I've ever seen before.

Finn's house is a mess; Kurt's room being the _only _exception. Santana's house is a mansion with help hired to maintain an unrealistic level of cleanliness. Brittany's house is fun and lively, her younger siblings running around all over the place. But Rachel's? Her house is _warm_.

The walls are painted an inviting mixture of soft yellows, warm reds and glowing golds. They're lined with professional looking photographs of a happy looking Rachel with two men who I assume are her infamous homosexual fathers. I drop my bag at the door and walk up to one, in particular, in which Rachel is beaming and holding a gold star in her hands; she can't be older than 6 or 7. I touch it delicately with a smile mechanically appearing on my lips and Rachel walks up behind me, close enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"That was the first singing competition in which I won first place," she whispers nostalgically and I jump from the closeness.

I scoff and ask, "The first of _how many_?"

"See for yourself," she winks and gestures towards the dining room where there's a big, beautiful wooden table that I assume is only used for special occasions. On the back wall, however, there are shelves built in which are lined with trophies, awards and pictures of Rachel. My jaw unhinges and I instinctively walk towards it.

"Rachel, this is…" I forget how to speak, eyeing all of the trophies in awe.

"Embarrassing, lame—I know. I didn't have much of a social life growing up," she admits sadly while looking down at the floor.

"I was going to say _amazing_," I tell her softly and her shocked eyes dart back up to mine. "Rachel, God, what are you even doing at McKinley High? Shouldn't you be, like, at some awesome private school singing?" I ask curiously.

"I—I wanted a chance at, well, a normal high school experience considering I was home schooled through elementary. Don't think my dads didn't try," she laughs.

"Where do you want to go to college?" I ask, while fingering her latest trophy which has a date from last summer on it.

"Julliard," she says wistfully.

"What's wrong with that?" I ask, placing the trophy back in it's rightful spot and look at her.

"It's practically impossible to get into," she shrugs.

"You'll get in," I say with complete certainty. I've only heard Rachel sing twice and I know that she's something special.

She beams at me and I look away out of embarrassment.

"You really are going to kick my ass on Friday in glee, aren't you?" I ask to break the silence.

"Oh, definitely, no doubt about that," she says nonchalantly before walking towards the stairs and waving for me to follow her. I chuckle lightly and run up the stairs behind her before I'm faced with the doorway into Rachel's room.

This time when I enter, I carefully observe all of her belongings; everything that makes Rachel who she is. She, in turn, watches me expectantly from the bed and waits for me to finish my inspection.

There are glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, pictures of her and her fathers in frames on most surfaces, posters of various bands and musicians—my favorite of which being Florence and the Machine. I smile and point towards it when I see it.

"I really do love her voice," Rachel says.

"And apparently Brandi Carlile," I say, gesturing towards multiple posters of her.

"Hey, she's a great singer," she argues defensively.

"I'm sure her looks have nothing to do with it," I tease.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Just that she's a pretty lady and you like that sort of thing, yeah?" I ask with an eyebrow raised.

"How—how did you know that I'm, well, _gay_?" she asks me anxiously with wide brown eyes.

"I wasn't sure until now. Puck mentioned it offhand to me the other day," I admit.

"Does it bother you?" she looks at me nervously and I hesitate.

"No," I finally admit after a few moments of silence, "Not really, especially not with my two best _girl _friends having sex every chance they get," I add and roll my eyes.

"Really? I would have expected you to be super judgmental with that cross around your neck and blatant lack of compassion," Rachel says nonchalantly with a shrug.

"Interesting, considering I'm in your bedroom right now," I scoff, placing my hands on my hips and glaring at her. "Honestly, Rachel, of all the things for me to judge you for, you think being gay is one of them? Everything about you is generally everything I try to stay away from and yet, here we are," I say and gesture between her and myself.

"Why did you come?" she whispers quietly.

"I'm sick of trying to stay away from you. Plus, you persuaded me with promises of books and movies," I wink at her and she blushes profusely and giggles.

"You're almost cute at times," I admit and have no idea where it came from. She raises an eyebrow at me but remains silent.

"_Funny Girl_?" I ask.

"Uh, what? Funny?" she responds confused.

"The poster?" I point towards the framed poster of the movie 'Funny Girl' behind her on the wall.

"Oh! That's my favorite movie of all time. Barbra Streisand is a goddess," she says proudly.

I think about how coach Sylvester referred to Rachel as the glee club's own personal Barbra Streisand and consider telling her about that before I realize that I'd need to explain why coach Sylvester was talking about her. She can't know that the true reason I'm in glee is to sabotage it. My eyes shift towards the mirror and I see a guilty look in my eyes before I notice the picture of Rachel with the vaguely familiar blonde girl.

I walk towards it and carefully take the picture off the mirror to examine it. This Rachel is slightly younger, beaming with her arm around some nerdy looking blonde girl with glasses. I can't shake the feeling like I've seen her before, nor can I shake the weird bubbling sensation in my stomach that makes me want to rip her face off. I don't even know who she is, why would I want to rip her face off?

_Oh my God, is this jealousy?_

Rachel comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder asking, "Quinn, are you alright? Your eyebrows are all scrunched together like you're deep in thought."

The contact makes butterflies explode in my stomach so I shake her hand off of me and turn around holding the picture accusingly.

"Who is this girl?" I ask demandingly.

"That's not funny, Quinn," Rachel responds irritably and snatches the picture out of my grasp.

"Wha—I'm not being funny! Who is she?" I repeat my question.

"Are you kidding me? _You seriously don't know who she is_?" she shouts at me angrily in disbelief.

"Uh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to?" I retort with my hands on my hips.

"Yeah, considering you climb on top of her every time you get on top of your cheerleading pyramid," she retorts.

"Now what the hell is that supposed to mean—_oh_," I stop short and cover my mouth with my hand in horror when I realize why the blonde looks so familiar.

_Jackie_. She joined the Cheerios at the beginning of the year and here was a heated debate about whether or not to let her on the team because apparently she had been a huge loser the first three years of high school, spending her time with girls like—Rachel. Santana, specifically, really didn't like the girl. In the end, I had the final say and allowed her on the team due to her evident 180 personality change. She looked like a Cheerio—toned body, blonde hair and she started wearing contacts. Most importantly, she seemed to really _want _it and that's not something you can fake.

Now every time I see her, she's got a boy on her arm and her head held high. Frankly, she's a super arrogant whore that I can't stand and do my best to overlook. I grab the picture back out of Rachel's hand and look at who Jackie was _before_. Happy, carefree and pretty in her glasses; much prettier than she is now caked in make up. I nervously look at Rachel, who is biting her lip and looks thoroughly upset like she's about to cry.

I have a short flashback to the first day we officially met:

"_Damn right, I'm Quinn Fabray, and I can make your life miserable."_

"_You already have," she says quietly._

"_This _is how I made your life miserable," I say wistfully, placing the picture facedown on her desk.

Rachel blames me for the loss of her friend—girlfriend?

"If you hadn't allowed her to be on the Cheerios, maybe she would have come back to me," she chokes out with her chocolate eyes brimming with tears.

"Whoa, Berry, come here," I pull her to the bed and make her sit down before sitting next to her, leaving a good foot in between us.

"Jackie was already on this path before I allowed her onto the Cheerios. I don't think it's fair that you blame me for this," I explain, trying my best to remain calm.

"Maybe if you weren't all a group of horrible girls she wouldn't have felt the need to turn into one in order to fit in," she snaps uncharacteristically and it feels like a knife going into my heart. I'm one of those horrible girls in Rachel's eyes, in fact, I'm probably the worst.

"I think that I should go," I whisper and motion to leave; _it was a mistake to come here_.

Rachel reaches out and grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers and stopping me from leaving.

"Wait! Wait, don't go, I'm sorry. I'm a mess and still a bit emotional about it. I'm over her, she doesn't deserve me. I just miss having someone like her…she was my first love," Rachel admits with a watery smile.

"I—I just wasn't enough for her," she admits softly. It's this admission of defeat which turns me back towards her, all intentions of leaving having flown out the window.

"Rachel Berry," I say firmly and she looks up nervously. I remain holding onto her hand for a little while longer.

"How many times do I have to say you're amazing before you believe me? Look at those trophies downstairs, Berry. The best Jackie has going for her is being at the bottom of _my _pyramid! You—you accept ridicule from bitches like _me _with your head held high and stay true to yourself, to who you are, instead of giving in and trying to be _just like us_. You're stronger than I am…you're a star," I finish lamely and get the wind knocked out of me.

Rachel is wrapping her arms tightly around my neck and I stiffen my arms uncomfortably not knowing how to respond. After a few moments, I stop fighting the hug and gently place my hands on her back and pat it awkwardly. My heart is racing and I blush when I realize our chests are pressed together. I've hugged plenty of people but I've never been this _close_. As a rule, I try to avoid all physical contact with other people. This hug feels…nice. Which naturally freaks me out so I gently push her away and take a few deep, hopefully unnoticeable breaths.

Her eyes are dry when we make eye contact again and she smiles at me kindly.

"I had no idea you could be so sweet," she teases.

"Don't get used to it, Berry," I grumble.

"No really, first you're saving my life and now you're saving my ego, what's next?" she asks, grinning.

"How do you talk about it so nonchalantly?" I ask her in disbelief, referring to the attack on her at Puck's party.

"To be honest, I don't remember it. I just have incoherent flashes that I don't understand and have had a few nightmares. I absolutely take it seriously, I just know that at the end of the night, you saved me," she says softly. "It helps that Puck knocked the guy out," she adds with a laugh.

"I was about to join him in the ass-kicking," I clench my fists remembering that night.

"Thank you," she covers one of my fists with her hand and my throat closes so I simply nod in response.

"There's too much emotion going on in this room right now," I get up and shake my head back and forth to get it off me. She laughs infectiously and I join her before walking towards her bookshelf and running my fingers along all of them.

"Why would you need two copies of your Harry Potter books…?" I ask while holding up a copy of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ in each hand.

"One of them is for show and the other is for reading," she says with confusion, like it's the most common thing in the world.

"Oh, yeah, because that's normal," I roll my eyes and place the books back down on the shelf.

"Which one was your favorite? Excluding the seventh because that's not fair game; the seventh has everything in it," I ask.

"I don't get how the seventh isn't considered 'fair game'," Rachel says, making quotations with her fingers.

"The seventh book runs circles around the other books. Like, it ties everything up perfectly," I explain.

"That doesn't necessarily make it the best book, so much so that it can't be included in a favorites discussion," Rachel argues.

"Oh my God, fine, which book was your favorite out of all of them?" I ask exasperated.

"The seventh," she admits with a smirk.

"I hate you," I throw the book at her and she ducks so it lands on her bed before laughing hysterically.

"Okay, okay, fine, my second favorite to the _Deathly Hallows_ would have to be _Order of the Phoenix_," she says in between giggles and tries to say the last part seriously.

_Mine too_.

"What's yours?" she asks, tilting her head in curiosity.

"I still think the _Deathly Hallows_ goes unsaid and then the _Order of the Phoenix_ would have to be next," I hate to admit, biting my bottom lip.

"Looks like something else we've got in common," she winks at me.

"Yeah, yeah. So I came here under the pretense of watching a movie?" I grin at Rachel.

"Oh! Yes, of course! We can watch Batman!" Rachel exclaims excitedly and grabs my hand, pulling me out of her bedroom and into another room directly next door.

This room is quite small, potentially made to be an office, but fit all of Rachel's…_stuff_. There's a large flat screen TV on top of a stand complete with a Blu-ray player and Xbox 360. On the opposite wall there's an extremely comfy looking black leather couch with a Captain America poster taped above it which makes me chuckle. Finally, on my right there's a huge rack filled with all kinds of DVDs and Blu-ray discs.

"Is all of this yours?" I ask curiously, with a twinge of jealousy.

Rachel nods proudly.

"I don't know why I'm surprised that you own an Xbox," I say.

"To be fair, Quinn, I don't play many video games. I mostly got it for Netflix," she smirks.

I walk over and examine her movies which appear to be in alphabetical order. I laugh when I get down to 'I'.

"If you dislike Iron Man so much why do you own both the first _and _second movies?" I cough 'hypocrite' under my breath and she laughs.

"I didn't say I didn't _like_ Iron Man. He's quite a bad ass. I just didn't see how you could think someone as selfless as Captain America would be more narcissistic," she rolls her eyes at me.

"I believe I said he was a toolbag with a stick up his ass," I correct her.

"My mistake," she winks and I blush in response while fumbling to pull _Batman Begins_ out of it's place.

Rachel takes it from me and skips over to put it into the Blu-ray player. She sits down on the couch and I sit as far away from her on the couch as I possibly can. I know it looks awkward, but I've been out of my comfort zone about as much as I can stand for the week; this is my compromise. I can't handle her accidentally touching me and sending that damn foreign electricity throughout my body.

Rachel presses play on the menu and then turns to eye me thoughtfully.

"Quinn, at the risk of sounding cliché, I don't bite," she giggles.

"No shit," I say sarcastically.

"So, then, why does it look like you're uncomfortably trying to merge with your end of the couch?" she asks with her chocolate eyes teasing me.

"I'm—not—I—fine. I'm not used to stuff like this," I admit painfully.

"I haven't had someone else in this room other than my dads since Jackie," Rachel confesses.

"So this is new for you too, then?" I ask hopefully, knowing I'm coming off like I'm mentally ill.

"If you think that I've ever had a girl like _you_ in my play room, Quinn Fabray, you're out of your mind," Rachel shakes her head.

"Did you just refer to this room as your 'play room'?" I double over in laughter and she hits me with a couch pillow.

"What would you call it then? A 'fun room'? A 'lesbian's paradise'?" she joins me in laughter and I have to wipe the tears from my eyes.

"Who knew you could be so funny. The 'Berry play room', you'd think this was a porno," I say in between chuckles.

Rachel and I both sit up on the floor leaning against the couch trying to compose ourselves. I cross my legs and look back up at _Batman Begins_ with a grin on my face. She cautiously scoots closer to me and looks at me nervously. When I raise an eyebrow towards her but don't object, she takes that as an admittance of approval and sits mere inches from me. I gulp, but make no move away from her. Instead, I relax my head on the couch cushion behind me and cross my arms. Rachel leans behind her to grab the blanket that was folded on the arm.

She places the blanket over herself and motions to put the rest of it on me before biting her lip, searching my eyes and whispering, "Are you cold?"

My body shivers visibly and I'm not sure if that's from noticing the low temperature in the room, despite still wearing Rachel's hoodie, or from the intensity she is always giving off. She smirks at my shiver and then places the blanket over me without waiting for a response.

We sit shoulder to shoulder, both of our arms crossed, and when she shifts a bit, our arms are touching. I jerk away from the electric current flowing through my arm originating at the point of contact.

I slowly move my arm back to lightly brushing against Rachel's and I think I hear her breath hitch, but that could be from the movie she's watching so intently. I haven't watched a minute of it since it started.

_God, what is wrong with you?_

I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath before allowing myself to _feel_ my arm against Rachel's. Now that the initial shock is gone, the constant low-level of electricity running through my arm is almost nice. It feels good and warm to be this close to her…and terrifying, confusing and a whole bunch of other things too.

"Interesting," Rachel says with a smirk.

_Holy shit, can she hear my thoughts?_

"What's interesting?" I ask anxiously, reminding myself that telepathy is still classified under impossible.

"I can see why you're a Batman fan," she grins.

_You're an idiot sometimes, Fabray.  
_

One of my favorite parts of the movie is currently on the screen. Bruce appears at the temple of the league of shadows with the blue flower and is exhausted. Ra's Al Ghul asks Bruce if he's ready to begin his training and Bruce laments over his exhaustion. Instead of showing mercy, Ra's kicks Bruce and shouts, "Death does not wait for you to be ready! Death is not considerate, or fair! And make no mistake: here, you face _death_."

I get goose bumps at the part every time and Rachel feels them.

"I get those too, you know. Especially when Bruce stands up and lets the bats surround him. It's a visual representation of him accepting his fear and facing it head on," Rachel says matter-of-factly.

"You really look at this stuff in depth, don't you?" I tease.

"Comic movies have the best themes, though, wouldn't you agree?" she counters.

"Yeah, I guess, but don't you ever just want to watch a movie to escape from thought?" I wonder.

"Even if you're not consciously thinking about it, Quinn, you're getting goose bumps for a reason. You're identifying with the character for whatever reason in the moments that you _feel_ for them," she states with conviction.

_She's right_.

"Are you always an insufferable know-it-all, Hermione?" I ask, playfully shoving her with my arm.

"_Probably_," she grins.

"What's your favorite part of the movie?" I ask mischievously.

"Not this again," she groans.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" I plead.

"Aren't you going to give me a part that's 'off limits' to choose as a favorite?" she asks sarcastically.

"You're getting off easy this time; choose whatever," I grin.

"This definitely isn't the best part of the movie by all means, but I really like the part at the hotel with Bruce is dripping wet with two incredibly hot women and he tries to defend his actions to Rachel and she totally calls him out on his shit like, 'But it's not who you are underneath, it's what you do that defines you.' That part gives me goose bumps every time," she finishes softly. "Who are you underneath, Quinn?" she asks me with intense, glowing eyes.

I gulp but reply steadily wearing a smirk, "Batgirl, of course."

"You're too cruel to be Batgirl!" Rachel shouts suddenly.

"Get the hell out of here! Batman hangs people upside down and drops them for intimidation. Batgirl follows his lead! And he's not exactly a sweetheart, like, oh, _Captain America_," I roll my eyes.

"Captain America is NOT a sweetheart!" she retorts while flinging the blanket off of herself angrily and facing me with menacing eyes.

"He's just the poster boy for morality! He never gets his hands dirty. That's why I like Batman, because he's willing to do what's necessary to get shit done," I counter, glaring back equally.

"You're just saying this to get me riled up so I forget the question," she growls between gritted teeth.

"Is it working?" I chuckle.

_Is it just me or are our faces getting closer together?_

"Why are you so afraid to share who you are underneath?" she whispers and her face is only inches away from mine—my heart skips a beat.

"I'm not afraid of anything," I lie.

"You're _lying_. Everyone has something to fear," she says, her eyes flickering down to my lips.

_Lucy, I'm scared of being Lucy_.

"You're right, I am afraid, but I'm facing some fears by being here with you, aren't I? I'm not ready to tell you my deepest secrets, Rachel," I say firmly, shifting backwards and pulling myself out of our trance. She seems to snap out of it too and moves back to sitting beside me, pulling the blanket back over herself.

"Will you, someday?" she asks hopefully.

"Maybe, you'll have to wait and see," I wink playfully.

"You are incorrigible," she laughs.

I grin and lean my head back before smelling something mouth-watering.

"Rachel, I think someone broke into your house and is cooking something delicious," I tell her sincerely.

She giggles and replies, "You're silly. That's just my dad cooking dinner. You'll stay, won't you? I'm cordially inviting you," she says with her nose in the air and it's really pretty cute.

"I guess we'll have to see if your fathers invite me for dinner. Have they been home the whole time?" I ask, wondering where they were when I entered.

"Don't you think you would have met them when you walked in?" she eyes me curiously and I blush from embarrassment.

"It's not like they came up here to say hello to their _only_ daughter!" I yell defensively.

"Calm yourself, woman. They try not to bother me until dinner time because usually I'm either practicing or doing homework. Also, that's probably just my daddy, Leroy, cooking. My dad Hiram doesn't get home until a bit later," she says thoughtfully.

"Did you just call me '_woman_'?" I ask incredulously and she giggles and nods.

"You're a lucky girl, Berry. Don't push it," I shake my head.

"You want to be here with me, what does that say about you?" she beams.

"You've got me there," I say breathlessly and run my hand through my hair.

Rachel reaches out for the remote and turns the movie off before standing up and holding out her hand for me, gesturing for me to grab it so she can help me up.

I bite my lip, getting butterflies from her kindness and grab it for her to pull me to my feet.

"Come on, you're about to eat a really delicious Berry meal," she winks.

Her words remind me of Brittany talking about eating _berries _inappropriately and I turn red before choking on what seems to be air.

"Quinn? Are you alright?" Rachel asks and places a gentle hand on my back.

"Yeah, I just got something caught in my throat," I choke out and clear my throat once more.

"Daddy!" Rachel calls down the stairs.

"Yes pumpkin?" He yells from the kitchen.

Rachel runs down the stairs and gestures for me to wait where I am for a second.

"I have someone for you to meet that I've invited to dinner," Rachel says proudly and I can hear the smile in her voice.

A beaming Rachel appears at the bottom of the stairs and she waves for me to come down.

"Quinn, you can come down now. It's burger night!" she exclaims.

As I'm walking down the stairs I'm hit with nervousness in the pit of my stomach. _What if he doesn't like me? What if he knows how horrible I've been to Rachel?_

I take a deep breath before entering the kitchen and see a tall man with bright green eyes looking at me curiously, but not unkindly.

He wipes a hand on his apron and extends it to me, "Hey, I'm Leroy Berry. Don't call me Mr. Berry, that's Hiram," he grins and has the warmest eyes I've ever seen.

"Hello, sir, I'm Qui—"

Rachel cuts me off, "Daddy, this is Quinn!"

I narrow my eyes at her and he laughs.

"All of this looks amazing, is there something I can help you with?" I ask genuinely.

Rachel is eyeing me with wide eyes from behind her father as she bites into a carrot.

"Wow, you're incredibly polite, aren't you? You can chill out here, you know. The Berry house is a fun house," he winks at me and reminds me so much of Rachel.

"You would never know Rachel was adopted. She seems to have all of your personality traits," I say.

He bellows with laughter and it's just as infectious as Rachel's. She sticks her tongue out at me from behind him and when he turns around she throws an olive at me.

_She's dead meat_.

"You're staying for dinner, yes Quinn?" he asks.

I clench my fist around the olive to hide it before responding.

"I'd love to, sir, if I'm not imposing," I say gracefully and Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Please, Quinn, call me Leroy. We'd love to have you," he adds sweetly.

"Sorry sir, um, I mean Leroy," I respond.

He turns toward the sink and I chuck the olive so well aimed at Rachel that it successfully bounces off her forehead and she gapes at me with her mouth open.

"Are you _the _Quinn, then?" he asks, looking at me and my mouth suddenly goes dry.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," I tilt my head curiously.

"Quinn Fabray, captain of the school cheerleading squad, president of the celibacy club, most beautiful girl in school aside from my Rachel?" he explains while continuing cooking.

She glares and throws an olive at him; I snort at their easy relationship.

"Well, sir, I don't know about the most beautiful girl in school part, but I am indeed both the captain of the Cheerios and president of the celibacy club," I respond with a blush.

"It's going to take some time to shake this 'sir' habit, isn't it?" he narrows his eyes at me.

"Quinn is being modest. She knows she's the most beautiful girl in Lima—let alone McKinley high," Rachel states casually.

My cheeks are burning and the butterflies in my stomach have returned. _Rachel thinks I'm that beautiful?_ She winks at me when we make eye contact and I have to steady myself on the counter.

"What's for dinner, sir?" I ask shakily to change the subject.

"A vegan black bean burger for Rachel and normal burgers for the rest of us, unless you're a vegan too, Quinn?" he asks.

I mouth at Rachel '_you're a vegan?' _across the island and she nods.

"Uh no, sir," I respond a little late.

"I'm wondering what's instilled such polite values in you, Quinn," he says.

"Well, my father is a really strict man and was in the Air Force for most of his life," I explain and Rachel sits down at the table eating a carrot hanging on every word I say.

"Is he nice to you, Quinn?" he asks me so abrasively that I'm caught off guard.

"Daddy, you can't ask her that! That's personal!" Rachel chastises him from the table and throws the rest of her carrot at him.

"Throw food at me one more time and you'll be eating cereal for dinner," he says while throwing the carrot bit back at her.

"No, Rachel, it's cool. Uh, I guess he's nice, sometimes. He's a very tough guy. We don't talk very much," I admit truthfully.

"What does he do for a living?" he asks and Rachel growls at the table. He completely ignores her and continues chopping vegetables for a salad.

"He works on the base an hour outside of Lima. He has a desk job now," I say truthfully, seeing no reason to lie.

"And your mother?" Leroy continues with the 20 questions.

"Oh my God, dad, can you stop?" Rachel groans.

"My mother is a stay at home mom, she's very kind and compassionate…and quiet," I tell him, interrupting Rachel.

"A very traditional household, then," Leroy says.

"Yes, sir, we go to church every Sunday," I say proudly.

"What are your grades like?" he asks.

"A's," I respond mechanically.

"Are you in the glee club?"

I wince, "Yes."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes," I say, "but he's an idiot," I add and Rachel laughs.

"Why are you together?" he asks with a curious expression.

"Dad—_seriously_?" Rachel interjects.

"Because we work well together," I shrug.

"Are you in love with him?" he eyes me skeptically.

I hesitate before admitting, "No."

Rachel, for once is completely silent and looking at me peculiarly from the table, as though seeing me for the first time; it makes me _very_ uncomfortable.

"Do you want bacon on your burger?" Leroy asks, snapping me out of my daze.

"I—do I what?" I'm momentarily confused by the question since he's been hitting me with more difficult ones.

"Do-you-want-bacon-on-your-burger?" he repeats playfully.

"Yes, extra bacon," I say, grinning.

I look over at Rachel expecting her to be grinning back at me and instead I see her pouting.

I sit down next to her and whisper, "What's wrong, Berry?"

"You tell my dad more than you tell me," she grumbles.

"You never asked me any of those questions, and honestly Rachel, he was asking me while you were in the same room so technically I was telling you," I involuntarily place my hand on her arm to console her, surprised by my new ability to touch her and enjoy the tingling sensation.

She huffs and I know it's not good enough.

"Let's see, what can I tell you? My favorite color is blue," I say hoping she'll look up happily. Instead, she crosses her arms.

"Not good enough. Okay, um, I love bacon. Like, go ahead and put it on my ice cream," I say and she cracks a smile.

"I make you a softy on the inside," she whispers.

"Only a little bit," I tease and pull my hand away from her arm.

"Helloooooooo?" A voice calls in singsong from the hallway and I jump.

"Dad!" Rachel yells and runs to give her dad a hug before he walks over to his husband and kisses him softly. The interaction seems so intimate and loving, something I've only ever seen with Brittany and Santana. I look away because I can hardly stand it.

"Honey, I'm home," he whispers gently against Leroy's lips and I feel incredibly out of place.

"Uh, don't look now but there's a pretty blonde girl at the kitchen table," he pulls away from Leroy and looks at me curiously.

I stand up and extend my hand to him, "Hello, sir, I'm Quinn."

His eyes widen and he shakes my hand firmly, "Wow, sir, huh? Call me Hiram."

"I've been trying to get her to stop but it seems as though she's too polite for her own good," Leroy winks at me and swats away Hiram's hand which is reaching for food to pick on.

"Dinner's just about ready, go set the table," he says and Rachel hands me a stack of dishes.

"Rachel, I didn't mean Quinn! She's the _guest_," Leroy says and rolls his eyes dramatically in Rachel Berry fashion.

"She's my guest and I'll do what I want with her!" she retorts.

I blush profusely and start setting the table with the dishes Rachel handed me.

"Quinn, I'm sorry, are you a friend of Rachel's? I don't believe she's mentioned you before," Hiram asks while placing forks.

"It's a recent friendship," Rachel says quickly.

"A new thing," I add.

"_Very_ new," she says nodding.

"You're gorgeous, Quinn. You must get all the boys, huh?" Hiram says with a laugh. He continues, "Do you have a boyfriend? What are your grades like? Where do you want to go to college?"

"Oh my God! Thanks for the third degree—both of you, now she's never going to come back," Rachel shouts, aggravated.

"What'd I say?" Hiram asks bewildered.

"Nothing, sweetheart, I just already gave Quinn the 'third degree' before you walked in the door. So far I've deduced that she's not only beautiful, but she's intelligent and incredibly well brought up," Leroy says, smirking at me.

"Oh, so that's where the 'sir' thing comes from," Hiram replies.

Seething, Rachel says, "She's standing. _Right_. _There_."

I find it rather amusing seeing her get worked up like this, so I lean back and enjoy the show, smirking.

"Alright, everybody, take a seat. Dinner is ready!" Leroy calls and Rachel moans happily.

"I am _so _famished," she says.

"Me too," I add quietly.

Leroy places a plate of cooked burgers, buns, bacon, a bowl of salad and a giant platter of sizzling, homemade fries on the table.

"Don't be shy, Quinn, take anything you want," Rachel whispers to me and squeezes my bare knee.

I almost pass out from the dizziness.

I reach out and grab a burger with a slice of bacon and a few French fries. Rachel eyes me skeptically before taking the entire bacon dish and pouring it out on my plate.

"_What on earth are you doing_?" I hiss, not used to any kind of silly behavior at a dinner table.

"You love bacon, eat it!" she exclaims while chomping down on her special vegan black bean burger.

"I don't love the entire pig, Rachel," I roll my eyes.

"Then have some more fries," she says and reaches for the bowl of fries.

"No!" I yell and swat her hand back.

She laughs and throws a piece of her fry at me. I snap off a piece of bacon and threaten to throw it at her; she narrows her eyes at it.

"You wouldn't dare," she glares at me.

"You're right, that wouldn't be very kind of me, would it?" I tease.

I drop the bacon bit and throw a cucumber piece at her and it stays in her hair. I burst out laughing and she throws a roll at me. I grab a handful of olives and gracefully chuck them one at a time at Rachel's forehead.

She grabs the entire salad bowl and furiously says, "_That's it_."

I take one look at Rachel's parents, who are looking between us like we're crazy, and I bolt out the kitchen door with Rachel chasing me throughout the house with the salad bowl.

I've never laughed so hard in my entire life, I'm sure of it.

Eventually I get tired and lie on the ground in the family room, trying to catch my breath between every laugh. I trip Rachel and she flies on top of me, both of us laughing hysterically until I look up into her beautiful brown eyes.

_Beautiful?_

She pushes my hair behind my ear and our laughter subsides, both of us simply grinning at one another.

"Girls? Are you going to come back in here and eat like adults, now? Bring what's left of the salad with you," Leroy calls to us from in the kitchen.

We both walk in and I'm very embarrassed. Rachel places the half-empty salad bowl back in it's original spot on the table and sits down next to me.

"I'm sorry, um, Mr. and Mr. Berry for interrupting dinner," I say apologetically.

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn. Sit down and eat your bacon," Hiram says with a smirk.

"Yes, sir," I concede and sit down.

"I expect you'll be cleaning up the waste of food strewn across the house, yeah?" Leroy says to Rachel seriously but with a joking twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, sir," she says mocking me with a salute to her father.

"You are such a _jackass_," I hiss.

"Do you want another olive in your hair?" she threatens me and giggles before, sure enough, pulling an olive out of my hair.

I blush and look down at my plate of bacon.

Leroy whispers, "Teenagers," under his breath and shakes his head.

* * *

We finish the rest of our dinner with the two Mr. Berry's telling me various embarrassing stories about Rachel growing up. We all laugh and while Rachel was mostly embarrassed, she joined in on the laughter too.

_This is a real family_, I think to myself; _happy, silly and loving_.

Rachel and I help clear the table after much insistence from myself and we're washing dishes together when I bring up one of the stories they mentioned at the table.

"I still can't believe you used to go streaking around the neighborhood," I laugh into the soap bubbles.

"I was like, 4 years old!" she retorts defensively and hits me with her drying towel.

"When I was 4 I wasn't running around naked," I counter.

"Yes, well, I was always a star," she says proudly before we burst into laughter together.

After Rachel is done drying the last of the dishes we both lean against the counter before she turns to me and suggestively whispers, "What do you want to do now?"

A lump forms in my throat and I look down at Rachel's lips for a brief moment.

"Who's bag is this?" Leroy is holding up my bag in the kitchen doorway and Rachel and I both jump out of whatever spell that was holding us.

"Mine, sir," I say reaching for it.

"Something in there has been buzzing nonstop," he says before walking out of the room.

"Oh shit, shit, shit, shit," I panic when I realize that I not only never told my mother that I wasn't coming home right after school, but I essentially left my life in this bag and never checked it.

Sure enough there are 26 missed text messages, 9 missed calls and 3 voicemails.

**Finn: **Hey baby, when are you coming over?

**Finn: **Quinn? I thought we had plans?

**Finn: **Babe, I thought we were going to hang out.

**Finn: **You promised us some alone time. Where are you?

The rest of the texts get progressively more offensive and I cringe when listening to both of the voicemails from him. I listen to the one concerned voicemail from my mother and text her immediately.

**Me: **Mom, sorry, I got held up at cheerleading practice after school and then went to Santana's. Coming home now!

I look up and Rachel is looking at me with very concerned eyes.

"Rachel, I've gotta go, I'm sorry," I say and realize how actually sorry I am to go.

"I wish you didn't have to," she admits.

"I do too," I say and note how truthful the statement is.

I take her hoodie off and go to hand it to her when she holds her hand up.

"Keep it, it looks better on you. Let me drive you home and you'll get there faster," Rachel says and grabs her keys.

I hold the hoodie close to my chest before shoving it into my bag.

The car ride is mostly in silence and I'm grateful that Rachel is speeding to get me home as quickly as possible, sensing the urgency.

When we reach my house and Rachel puts the car in park I sit there awkwardly and look over at her. Her eyes are full of warmth and worry.

"Will we ever hang out again?" she asks me with her eyes tearing up.

"Hell yes, how can I stay away from the delicious cooking? All that bacon—a man after my own heart," I say with a light laugh referring to Leroy.

"Goodbye, Quinn," she says softly.

Before I can think, I reach out and wrap my arms around her. She buries her face in my neck and the moment feels so perfect. Her breath on my neck makes it impossible for me to breathe. I feel incredibly lightheaded when I pull away and motion towards the door.

I hesitate and look back, "I'll text you."

_And I really will_.

She nods and smiles before driving off into the darkness.

I walk up towards the front porch when a large figure appears in the light.

"Who the hell was that?" Finn asks me furiously.


	5. Whenever, Wherever

**A/N: Wow! 200+ alerts and favorites! You're all absolutely wonderful. **

**I essentially finished chapter 6. I'll make you all a deal—50 reviews and I'll post it.**

**Warning: introducing Russell the douche bag.**

**Chapter Five: Whenever, Wherever**

"_Goodbye, Quinn," she says softly._

_Before I can think, I reach out and wrap my arms around her. She buries her face in my neck and the moment feels so perfect. Her breath on my neck makes it impossible for me to breathe. I feel incredibly lightheaded when I pull away and motion towards the door._

_I hesitate and look back, "I'll text you."_

_And I really will._

_She nods and smiles before driving off into the darkness._

_I walk up towards the front porch when a large figure appears in the light._

"_Who the hell was that?" Finn asks me furiously._

"Finn? What are you _doing_ here so late?" I snarl and drop my bag to the ground.

"I asked you a question. Who the hell was that?" he repeats aggressively, grabbing me by the arm.

"_For your information_, it's the girl that I'm tutoring. You know you can't be here this late, what if my father catches you out here?" I whisper hurriedly and yank my arm out of his grasp, looking nervously at the front door.

Finn's anger falters and he looks bewildered.

"That was just some girl? You weren't…cheating on me?" he asks with wide eyes.

"No, jackass, it was just…'some girl'," I affirm with a cringe. Rachel Berry is hardly just _some girl_.

"Wow, Quinn, I'm sorry. I was really pissed when you blew off our date and I assumed the worst when I saw you pull up in the Mustang and I figured it was a dude," he confesses guiltily.

I feel a bit vindicated but still angry that he showed up here demanding to know where I've been like he owns me.

"Finn, you can't come storming around here like an ogre. You owe me more respect than that," I assert.

"Yeah, I just wanted us to spend some alone time together tonight and you weren't answering my texts so I was hoping to find you here," he says, shrugging.

"You need to leave before my father sees you," I caution him, trying to shove him off the porch.

"Hey, wait, since when do you call me an 'ogre'? Since when do _you _talk to _me_ like that?" he scoffs and holds out his chest proudly.

"Since when do _you_ act like such an ass—oh, wait, you're always an asshole," I blurt out sarcastically.

"You must really be on your period because you're acting like such a bitch right now," he says and shakes his head.

"I'm going inside now. Go home, Finn," I demand, picking my bag back up off the ground hotly and shove past him.

"Quinn, wait, please! I'm sorry, I really am. I just miss being alone with you," he whines.

I feel a pang of guilt when I realize that I have been pushing him away unintentionally. I've been so absorbed with Rachel that I've hardly even thought of Finn, if at all.

"You're right, I guess we need to work on our relationship," I murmur reluctantly.

Honestly, trying to work on my relationship with Finn feels like such an incredible waste of my time. I would have no desire to do it if it wasn't for the sake of my popularity and label as queen bee of McKinley. What does that say about our relationship? I wince when I think about how loving and happy Brittany and San are together. What if love _is_ real and I'm missing an opportunity to find it by staying with Finn? Oh well, I'll have life after high school to figure it out. For now our relationship works perfectly.

Finn beams a silly half-grin and pulls me in for a smothering hug. I flashback to Rachel and compare how well we fit together, like puzzle pieces or something, to how difficult it is to hug Finn and enjoy it. No wonder I never enjoyed hugs before.

"Eat lunch with me tomorrow; I think you've done enough tutoring for the week," Finn demands.

On one hand, I have Rachel all to myself in an empty auditorium waiting for me to keep her company tomorrow. On the other, I'll make Finn happy and thus prolong the inevitable end to our relationship.

"Sure, Finn," I concede with a head nod.

"Later, Quinn," he says after jerking my head towards him for a wet kiss.

I scowl at his figure as he enters the car and fumble through my bag for my house key. Unfortunately, the front door opens wide and my father is standing there with a furious expression. I gulp in fear and take a step backwards.

"Look at what we've got here. My daughter coming home late with no phone call and with that _boy_, no less," he growls, taking a step forward.

"Daddy, please, I wasn't with Finn—he was here waiting for me!" I plead.

"Don't lie to me, Quinn. What would the church think of your sinful behavior?" he growls and reaches out to grab hold of me, yanking me into the house and slamming the door behind us. His breath smells of Whiskey and cigar smoke.

My mother is standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a conflicted look on her face and her hands are twisting together in front of her.

"Russell, she is home before her curfew," my mother whispers.

"_You_ stay out of this! She clearly didn't learn how to be a sinner from _me_! All you women need to learn your place," he spits at her.

"Daddy, I swear, I was tutoring a girl from my English class and I lost track of time. You can call her parents and ask!" I implore him to see sense.

"Tutoring, eh? What good would you be at that?" he releases me and eyes me skeptically.

"I do have straight A's, father," I mumble.

"You're damn right you do! You need a scholarship. As if I'd give you any money towards a college education," he snorts and motions to go back into his study. He hovers in the doorway and adds menacingly, "Keep tutoring, then, and I want to see much less of this Finn character. If you are ever late again without giving us a phone call you will be punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, father," I said sincerely as he slammed the door in my face. I breathe a sigh of relief and walk towards my mother in the kitchen.

"Mom, you know you can't get involved like that," I whisper.

"Yes, well—did you eat dinner?" she asks while fumbling through the fridge taking out leftovers.

"Yeah, mom, nothing to worry about," I smile sadly and sit at the table.

"Who is this girl you're tutoring?" she inquires while placing a glass of water in front of me.

"Uh, Rachel Berry, you probably haven't heard of—" I say before her eyes widen and she covers my mouth with her hand.

"Don't _ever_ tell your father that," she hisses in a small panicky voice and releases my mouth.

If there's anyone my father can't stand more than women, it's homosexuals. The concept that I'd be in her house with her two gay dads would be completely unacceptable. If only he could understand what happy, loving and wonderful people they are. Rachel doesn't know how lucky she is.

I nod and take my bag up to my bedroom and shut the door quietly behind me.

I take my clothes off to put on some sweats when I notice the large red mark on my arm, presumably from my father yanking me inside. I rub it and it hurts at the contact, pulsing. I refuse, however, to go downstairs to get some ice at the risk of seeing my father again.

Russell Fabray has never been a kind or warm man. There are no pictures of him smiling, none of him holding me as a baby and most importantly no warm memories of the two of us together. By all accounts I have no feelings of inborn love for him and I strongly dislike, if not hate him. I've begged my mother to leave him on more than one occasion but she's simply not strong enough. She says that when they got married he was a different man, a pleasant person. The concept makes me laugh because if you've ever met Russell you'd know he's anything but pleasant. Knowing him, he probably tricked my mother into thinking he was a nice guy to trap her in a marriage. She's too weak to make it on her own.

I'm exhausted by my two altercations tonight with Finn and my father so I lie down in bed and cuddle up with my lamb stuffed animal that I've had since I was a baby. I keep it hidden under my pillow every day so nobody sees it. Unfortunately, my worst nightmare came to fruition when San found it once and laughed her ass off. My phone buzzes in my bag and I reach over, practically falling off the bed to pull it out of the pocket. With a huff I return to my position and look at the name.

_Rachel._

Seeing her name makes me feel warm and I smile thinking about our night together, about how wonderful her family is. I slide the iPhone button across and open up the text.

**Rachel**: Pleasant dreams, batgirl.

I can't stop the laugh bubbling up at the back of my throat. I know I said that I would text her, but I'm truly exhausted and not feeling well. I place the phone on my night stand and close my eyes feeling much lighter than I did moments before.

Walking to the lunch room with Finn is an extremely depressing endeavor. I rub at the sore spot on my arm; no visible bruise was there when I awoke, but the spot is still tender.

I haven't seen Rachel all day and she wasn't in English class. I'd much rather run to the auditorium and see her, but I know I promised Finn I'd eat with him today so I pull out my phone to text her.

**Me**: Sorry, Rachel, but I'm going to have to miss our auditorium date today. 'Mandatory' lunch with Finn.

I blush at the word 'date' and regret sending it, hoping she doesn't get the wrong idea.

**Rachel**: Mandatory makes it sound like so much fun.

This is the first I've heard from her all day and I get butterflies in my stomach paired with a smile.

**Me**: Yeah, well, I am his girlfriend.

**Rachel**: You know you'd rather be with me

I jerk to a stop and the person behinds me walks into me before apologizing profusely and running in the other direction.

**Rachel**: in the auditorium.* Sorry, accidentally pressed the send button too soon.

I release a deep breath and steady myself.

"You okay?" Finn asks, putting an arm over my shoulders. I nod and look down at my phone.

**Me**: You're so sure of yourself.

**Rachel**: Not really, I just know how much you don't enjoy spending time with Finn.

**Me**: Whatever.

**Rachel**: Are you going to tell me you wouldn't rather be in there with me right now?

**Me**: Be that as it may, I'll see you in glee.

**Rachel**: You'll see me sooner than that ;)

My heart races at the wink face and I look around desperately trying to find her. I quickly text her back.

**Me**: Where?

She doesn't reply and I sit down in the cafeteria bouncing my leg anxiously waiting for a response.

"Do you want something?" Finn asks me, pointing to the line.

"Uh, yeah, a chicken caesar wrap, if you don't mind," I bat my eyelashes at him, hoping he'll get it.

"Anything for my girl," he says and walks towards the lunch line in time for Santana to arrive and roll her eyes.

"When are you going to dump the giant?" she wonders, sitting down with Brittany at her side.

"Hey Q! Glee practice today after cheerleading practice!" Brittany exclaims happily.

"I can't wait for double the ass kicking," I mumble.

"For your information, I have no intention of dumping Finn. He's a good—a good—," I stutter and my sentence trails off when I stare jaw dropped at none other than Rachel Berry walking in with short-shorts, a pair of aviators and a belly shirt showing off her toned stomach with her hair flowing down her shoulders.

"Holy shit, _is that__ Berry_?" Santana stares at Rachel lustfully and I growl possessively.

"Santana, you have a girlfriend. And ew! Stop checking out Berry," I hiss at her.

"Dude, I don't care who that is, she's ridiculously sexy," she says huskily.

"San, can we do her?" Brittany asks excitedly.

"No! There will be no_ 'doing'_!" I shout with a blush on my face and cover my eyes so I can't look at Rachel anymore.

When I inevitably look up, she's taken her sunglasses off and winks at me while walking towards the lunch line. My throat is suddenly dry and I yank Santana's water away from her for a sip. I take out my phone to text her again when Finn reappears next to me with my food and I completely ignore him.

**Me**: Why weren't you in English?

I watch her take her tray to an empty table and sit down before pulling her cell phone back to respond to me.

**Rachel**: Mental health morning. My daddy bought me some new summer clothes. Do you like them?

_Oh my God, do I ever_.

Ew, what's wrong with me? I sound like a teenage boy.

**Me**: Really cute. The clothes, I mean.

I watch her face light up until my view of her is blocked by…a Cheerio.

A tall,

blonde

Cheerio.

I narrow my eyes and stand up without thinking. Rachel is eyeing her warily and seems disinterested in whatever she's saying. It's fucking _Jackie_.

"Um, Quinn, you look like you're ready to pounce on somebody and not necessarily in the sexy way," San says cautiously.

"Yeah, Q, you've got your claws out," Brittany adds before making a cat noise.

Jackie flips her hair to the side and lets out a loud laugh. _That's enough_. I storm over to them and walk up to Jackie during mid-sentence.

"Seriously, Rachel, you look super hot. You should come to our party this weekend," Jackie purrs.

Seething, I growl, "Jackie, what the hell _are you on_? Did you not hear the ban I put on bothering Rachel Berry on the field the other day?"

Rachel looks up at me bemused and leans back into her chair with her fries as if she's about to watch something enjoyable. I snarl at her and she looks slightly less pleased, which makes me feel a bit better.

"What, Q? I'm hardly bothering her. Don't you think Rachel looks good like this? Like, _Cheerios _good?" she says and winks at Rachel flirtatiously.

"I'm going to count to ten. If you're not back in your seat where you belong in those ten seconds, I'm kicking you off the Cheerios. If I catch you bothering Berry again, you're off the Cheerios. If I see you even _near_ her again, you're _off of the Cheerios_. Have I made myself clear?" I seethe assertively between gritted teeth before adding, "1…2…"

"Crystal," she agrees acidly before returning to the cheerleading table next to my own.

"Stop looking so amused," I snap at Rachel who beams at me.

"Why Quinn, I had no idea you could be so protective," she teases.

I huff and roll my eyes about to walk away when Rachel grabs me.

"Wait, sit with me," she bites her lip and sounds like the anxious, cute Rachel I'm...a bit fond of.

"You know I can't," I whisper affectionately, gently removing her hand from my wrist.

"Can we hang out later?" she asks with determination.

"I have Cheerios practice and then we're practicing our Shakira routine," I tell her sadly, wanting to reach out and touch her.

"You better go, your table is staring at you," Rachel sighs and looks down at her food.

"Don't be mad," I whisper pleadingly before returning to my table with my head held high.

Sure enough, everyone is completely silent when I return to my seat.

"What?" I snap at everyone and they return to their conversations.

"You seem almost friendly with Berry, Q," San says and crosses her arms.

"We were just talking about our glee routine. So what?" I retort and she shrugs.

Finn puts his arm around my shoulder and I sneak a glance back at her table. She appears carefree while munching on fries and reading _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_. I feel a surge of affection towards her and let out a shaky breath. Too much Rachel.

My phone buzzes between my legs and I read it half under the table.

**Rachel**: Sounds like you missed me this morning. Not like you would have let me sit with you anyway.

**Me**: Maybe we could work something out. Like, you coming into class late everyday so all the other chairs fill up.

**Rachel**: You're no fun to be around in public anyway, you're cute alone.

I blush profusely and fight a smile tugging at my lips. When my phone buzzes again, however, it's not Rachel.

**Santana**: Careful, Q, you wouldn't want Finn to see you flirting with someone else.

I look up and narrow my eyes at her from across the table before texting her back.

**Me**: I am NOT flirting!

**Santana**: You're blushing, you're fighting little smiles and you keep texting someone even though your boyfriend is right next to you. You've got the hots for someone else, girl.

I roll my eyes and place my phone on the table in front of me signifying to Santana that the conversation has ended and it is no longer up for discussion. Unfortunately, she practically smacked the happiness right off of my face.

I fight the urge to look towards Rachel until I'm certain that Santana is distracted well enough by Brittany. I allow my eyes to shift towards her as she stands up and throws out her trash, heading towards the exit.

"Be right back," I tell Finn while he's scarfing down a burger too big for his mouth. It's dripping all over him and I look at him repulsively before chasing after Rachel.

I run down an empty hallway and stop, looking back and forth trying to find her. Something yanks me and pulls me into an empty classroom.

"Dangerous of you to follow me like that," Rachel beams with teasing eyes.

"Dangerous of us to be friends at all," I chuckle.

I watch her walk towards a chair and sit down, gesturing me to sit next to her.

"See? Isn't this better than a loud, messy cafeteria with the boyfriend you don't even like dripping burger juices on you?" Rachel giggles.

"Well, when you put it that way…" I grin and close my eyes at the comfortable silence.

"Admit you missed me," Rachel whispers and I open my eyes to her playful expression.

"Uh, no, get over yourself," I tease.

"Admit it or I won't talk to you for a week," Rachel declares.

"And then who will you take to Breadsticks?" I quip.

"Some other blonde girl, apparently they like me," she winks.

"Apparently not this one," I retort and she puts on a fake hurt expression.

"Maybe I'll ask Santana and Brittany out," she says sincerely.

"You wouldn't dare! They—you, they'd be all over _you_!" I choke out.

"A threesome could be fun," she shrugs nonchalantly.

"Gross, Rachel," I shake my head and try to fight the angry fires burning at the pit of my stomach.

"I never pegged you for the Hulk, Quinn; green doesn't suit you," Rachel comments with twinkles in her eyes.

"I am _not_ jealous of anyone, or even the possibility of anyone!" I exclaim.

"Why do you have to be so difficult? Please, please just admit it," she begs and grabs my hand before adding, "I missed you."

The butterflies take off and I can hardly look Rachel in the eyes anymore. I know I'm as red in the face as a tomato and I don't understand this hold she has on me at all. No use lying when she can see it all over my face.

I sigh and confess, "I might have missed you this morning. Just a little bit."

The bell rings and I stand up, rolling my eyes at a beaming Rachel.

"Come here, you," I say and hold my arms out for a hug.

She looks at me with wide, surprised eyes and wraps her arms completely around my neck. Mine instinctively wrap around her waist and for a moment, wrapped around her ironically vanilla scent, I feel whole.

"You know, Berry, I keep expecting you to smell like…I don't know, a berry or something. I definitely wouldn't have expected vanilla," I whisper into her hair and she giggles against my throat making the hairs stand on the back of my neck. The intimacy of the moment has me pulling away. Rachel is now blushing and still grinning at me.

"I'll see you in glee," I gently tap the side of her face in a fake slap and wink at her. She chuckles when I walk out the door.

* * *

When Santana, Brittany and I walk into glee we're greeted with a beaming Rachel. I wink at her and sit myself beside my two girls, in the seat directly in front of Rachel's chair.

As the rest of the members file in, they burst out into the song 'Don't Stop Believin'' by Journey and even Rachel joins them dancing around the room. Brittany was the first person out of her chair, Santana in tow. Rachel dances her way over to me and holds out a hand for me to grab.

"Come on, you can be yourself in here, batgirl," she tells me and I don't even think when I reach out to take her hand in mine.

I join the others, dancing and singing along with the famous song. We're all laughing and having a great time when Mr. Schue walks into the room with a smile on his face.

"Alright guys, settle down, you know I'm a Journey man myself but we have a new member today and I want to introduce you to him," he states eagerly.

We all walk back to our chairs with huge smiles on our faces. Rachel beams at me and lightly brushes her hand against my hair as she returns to her seat behind me. She leans her knees against my chair on purpose and I smirk at the contact.

"I'm sure you all know him as your star quarterback," Mr. Schue continues and I feel something the size of a bowling ball drop in my stomach.

"Wait, quarterback? Oh,_ hell no_," Santana protests next to me.

Brittany asks Santana, "Isn't the quarterback Finn?"

I hear Rachel groan behind me and remove her legs from the back of my chair. I desperately want to turn around and tell her to put them back, that everything is okay and we're all still happy, but I'm frozen to the spot when my gigantic boyfriend walks in the room with a smirk on his face, eyes on me.

"Frankenteen, what the hell are you doing here?" Santana hisses, glares at him for me.

"I thought Quinn and I needed some more time together and I figure why not sing with her," he beams as though it was the best idea in the world.

"Oh, barf," I hear Rachel whisper behind me.

"Berry's got the right idea, Finnocence! You're a gigantic waste of space and you don't need to be following Q here everywhere she goes. She's a big girl," Santana is entering a rage zone and her fists are clenching.

"But Quinn, babe, don't you want me here?" he asks, looking at me innocently and I hesitate before responding.

"Come sit down, Finn," I mumble and more than half the room groans in discontentment.

I sneak a peek towards Rachel and realize she's moved to the complete back of the room, as far away from us as she can get. Finn puts his arm around my shoulder and she scowls, looking at me bitterly.

_He is my boyfriend_, I remind myself before facing forwards and chewing at my bottom lip.

"Finn, you haven't missed much. This week is girl's week," Mr. Schue explains to him the rules of the week and how the boys will be competing next week.

"Unfortunately, I don't think there's any room for you in a routine so you're just going to have to be patient and chill until next week, all right?" he tells Finn.

"I'm just happy to be here with my girl," he says and Santana almost throws up before moving as far away from me us as possible.

First Rachel and now my best friends; even _I_ don't really want Finn here at all. Just as I was starting to maybe enjoy this stupid club, Finn has to ruin that for me. I glower at him until Mr. Schue tells us to break up for practice.

"Can I tag along?" Finn asks me.

"Sorry, uh, can't see the routine until Friday!" I bullshit and lean up to kiss him on the cheek before running out of the classroom and getting as far away from him as possible.

Running through the hall with Brittany and Santana I feel free again and allow myself to loosen up. I've left both Rachel and Finn behind, I'm about to prepare to kick some ass and look incredibly hot on Friday. Our first performance ever in the glee club and it's only two days away. I feel the familiar nervous excitement in my stomach that I get before a Cheerio's competition.

"No, guys, you _have _to take your shirts off!" I hear Rachel exclaim behind me. I stop short and she runs right into me, Sam and Puck at her sides with Santana and Brittany skipping along ahead without me.

"Watch it, Berry," I say unconvincingly with a smile tugging at my lips. Sam and Puck raise their eyebrows at me in confusion at my lack of conviction.

"Guys, go on into the auditorium. I need to give Quinn a proper apology," she lies and watches them go in, closing the door behind them. My eyes stay on her the whole time, my gaze unwavering.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Rachel teases.

"Maybe you should start looking where you're going," I retort, smiling and nervously brushing my hair behind my ear.

"As it so happens, I liked the view in front of me. Not my fault she stops suddenly," she winks at me playfully.

I take a step forward and Rachel's breath hitches. I place a finger under her chin and whisper, "It's not polite to stare," close to her lips before turning my back to her, strutting as sexily as possible down the hall towards the gym with my hips swaying back and forth.

I stop at the entrance and turn towards Rachel looking after me with her jaw dropped. I shake my head and laugh while entering the gym.

* * *

The past two days worth of practices have been kicking my ass. If I'm not leading drills for the Cheerio's, Santana and Brittany are on my ass for the Shakira performance. We got the routine down on Wednesday's night practice, but Santana wants to make sure our debut into the glee club is absolutely perfect. My only objection is that 'Hip's Don't Lie' will be playing in my head and in my dreams for the next month, for sure.

I've hardly had any time for Finn let alone Rachel. Unfortunately, I went to see her during lunch yesterday and she wasn't anywhere to be found. I tried texting her asking her where she was and she was being extremely mysterious.

FLASHBACK

**_Me_**_: Where have you been all day?_

**_Rachel_**_: Around, you know, here and there._

**_Me_**_: Are you even at school?_

**_Rachel_**_: Yes._

**_Me_**_: Sounds like you're avoiding me._

**_Rachel_**_: I wouldn't put it that way, Q._

**_Me_**_: Then how would you put it?_

**_Rachel_**_: It'll make tomorrow's performance that much better if you miss me first._

_I roll my eyes and return to my Cheerio's practice, scowling at Rachel's empty spot on the bleachers. She's absolutely ridiculous. _

END FLASHBACK

Now that it's Friday and I'm finally entering glee, I'm feeling incredibly anxious with nervous butterflies in my stomach. I'm amped to perform and I can tell Brittany and Santana are as well. I'm also nervous about seeing Rachel's performance. Brittany though is excited and won't stop jumping around the room, which makes Santana and I laugh and calm our nerves a bit.

Rachel walks in and beams at me and I feel the butterflies return, but in a good way. I beam back and she brushes her arm against mine walking towards a seat in the back. I close my eyes and revel at the contact, well aware that if anyone is looking at me I look like an idiot.

I really did miss her. I saw her this morning in English but she sat as far away from me as possible, only giving me a wink when leaving the room. Quite frankly it was beginning to piss me off and when she was MIA at lunch once more I started taking it out on everyone around me.

I finally had a friend who I could talk to about, well, anything without having to worry about my reputation. Ironic considering I know that if anyone found out about our friendship I would have some serious explaining to do. I feel like we're careful enough where the risk is worth it. And honestly? The way Rachel has been looking lately, I think the backlash from anyone finding about our friendship would be light. You know what they say: hot girls belong in the Cheerio's. The thought makes me nauseous. Rachel is _my_ secret and I don't want her being apart of the Cheerio's.

Finn walks into glee and Santana hisses at him like a cat. I suppress the urge to laugh and return the smothering hug he gives me.

"You ready?" he asks me.

"Who do you think you're talking to, dumbass?" Santana retorts and I hear Rachel laugh in the back, filling me with warmth.

"Nobody asked you, Berry," Finn says coldly and glares at her.

"Don't take your anger at Santana out on her," I respond defensively.

Finn cocks an eyebrow and sits down in a huff.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're on your period, Finnocence. Need a Motrin?" Santana quips with mock concern, holding the bottle from her bag.

"What the hell is your problem, Santana!" he stands up and yells in her face.

_Oh, here we go._

I glance back at Rachel who is sharing the same look as me. I smile at her and step away from Santana. In this moment, Rachel and I are on the same wavelength, sharing the same thought:

**Rule #1: Never fuck with Santana.**

"You're my problem, you gigantic waste of space! With your God awful breath I can hardly even concentrate, brush your fucking teeth once in a while. Brittany, do you have any gum to give him?" she responds harshly.

"Oh ha ha, you're so clever. You know what I think? I think you're just a little dyke bitch who can't handle a real man," he smirks at her smugly and six things happen at once.

Mr. Schue enters the room, Rachel is seething and gesturing violently at Finn and being held back by Puck, Mike and Sam are cracking their knuckles, Brittany is frowning and stops dancing, Kurt is standing up to protest, and Mercedes is shouting, "Oh _hell _no!"

The worst of all, Santana is tilting her head with narrowed eyes and a wicked grin on her face. She's about to go all Lima Heights on him and with one last glance at Rachel, I know what the right thing to do is.

"Finn, you need to go _right now_," I command him anxiously, waiting for the ball to drop and everyone to lose their minds.

"What? Are you insane? You're _my _girlfriend!" he shouts.

"Right now I'm ashamed of that fact. Get out of this room right now because nobody wants you here and Santana is about to kick your ass," I tell him with a disgusted look on my face, eyes shifting towards Santana taking off her gold hoop earrings.

"As if she could hurt me," he laughs.

Big mistake.

Santana lunges at Finn with a wild expression in her eyes and he has the sense to flinch before he chuckles at her because Sam and Puck are holding her back. Rachel must have calmed down for Puck to let her go. I look back to check it out and sure enough, she's a bit red in the face but no longer trying to lunge at Finn.

"You wanna take all three of us, bro?" Puck asks angrily.

At this, Finn gulps and motions to exit the room.

"Let's get one thing straight, Finn, glee club is like a family and we can be ourselves in here. If you can't support that then do us all a favor and not come back after you _get the hell out_," Kurt, for the first time, expresses himself angrily and I can practically see a vein pulsing in his forehead.

Finn gives me one last look, which I respond to with crossed arms. He exits the room and everybody cheers…for me.

I look around astonished as they're all clapping for me, Mr. Schue looking bewildered next to the piano.

"Good job, Q," Santana murmurs and pats me on the shoulder before sitting down to calm herself.

Everyone comes over to reintroduce themselves to me with a laugh as though they've never met this Quinn before. Rachel walks over with sparkling eyes and a huge smile on her face.

She grabs my hand and whispers, "You're kind of amazing."

I shake my head but smile at her and want to pull her in for a hug, but know that would be pushing it.

I feel a pang of panic when I realize that my relationship with Finn is in trouble and going to need some intense damage control. I shake it off and enjoy this moment where I stood up for my best friend, who's looking at me with new eyes as though she's never seen me before.

"What's up, San?" I ask quietly.

"I just didn't know you had it in you, blondie," she admits warmly and bumps her shoulder into my own.

"I don't know why everyone's so shocked that I can be HBIC whenever I want to be, who cares if he's my boyfriend? He insulted my best friend and Ra—and made everyone uncomfortable in here. Screw that," I shake my head, ashamed of Finn.

"Uh, so, is everyone ready to perform?" Mr. Schue asks awkwardly and grabs everyone's attention.

"Should be fun," Santana winks and adds, "I'm all amped up now but in a good way."

"We all need time to get ready and into our costumes/make up," Rachel tells him.

"Absolutely," Kurt agrees.

"Then I guess take this period to get ready and we'll perform after school? Is anyone opposed to that?" he asks the class and most of us shake our heads.

"Thank freakin' God we don't have Cheerio's practice or we'd have to forfeit and our routine would go to waste," Santana whispers.

Brittany and I nod fervently, excited to be able to show off our abilities. I'm especially excited to show Rachel what I can do and I smirk at the thought.

"Balls, Mr. Schue, I've got detention. Oh well, I'll just skip it. What are they gonna do, give me more detentions?" Puck laughs infectiously and it's carefree. It's really hard not to like someone like that, so I smile at him and he returns it with a wave.

* * *

We all go to get ready in separate rooms and we put on our outfits. My particular group is wearing our own version of Shakira's orange outfit from the music video: an orange bikini top and a much shorter wavy, orange skirt. Our hair is flowing down our backs instead of our usual ponytails and we're not wearing any shoes. Looking in the mirror, we look incredibly hot. Santana winks at me and I know she's thinking the same thing.

When we enter the auditorium to begin, Kurt's team is standing on stage next to Rachel's. Kurt's outfits are all black spandex with suggestively placed rips and tears all over the place. They all have on silver eye make up, including Kurt. They look really good and I give him a thumbs up, which he grabs from afar and places against his heart. He's so gay and I_ like _it.

Rachel's team, on the other hand, is wearing the same clothes they were before and there's hardly any change about them at all. I tilt my head questioningly at Rachel and she mouths, '_You'll see_,' back at me with a wink.

"Wow, you guys look hot," Puck says to us as we join them on stage.

"You're surprised?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Definitely not," Rachel answers for him and I blush.

She steps forward and whispers, "You look sexy," in my ear and I practically trip and fall on my face. _Yeah, real sexy_. She giggles and adds, "It's a shame it's wasted on a losing performance."

"You think so?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"I already told you that I'm going to win. And you know what the worst part is? You're going to like it," Rachel smirks.

"We'll see," I say and grin at her cute confidence.

"Alright ladies, here's a hat with three slips of paper in it. On each slip of paper there's a number that will tell you where you are in the order. Once your team captain chooses the number, either prepare to perform or sit in the audience and wait your turn. I'll be right back with your guest judges," Mr. Shue explains mysteriously and leaves the auditorium.

Kurt, Santana and Rachel each go to the hat. Rachel pulls out a number and frowns at it: 2.

"I can't be second, I have to be third. Who has third?" she asks desperately.

"We do. No way you're getting it, treasure trail," Santana says.

"Santana, you don't understand. We _have_ to be third," Rachel whines, looking to me to intervene.

"Don't care," Santana fake yawns and watches Brittany warm up, doing her stretching exercises.

"Give me that," I hiss and snatch the slip out of her hand, walking over to give it to Rachel.

"Here," I say softly and she looks at me with warm eyes, switching second for third.

"Why would you do that?" Santana scoffs at my return.

I quickly shrug and come up with a legitimate excuse, "If I didn't she'd just complain to Mr. Schue and freak out for an hour."

"Are you guys going to bitch about going first?" Santana yells over to Kurt and Mercedes' group.

They respond together as they are both co-captains, "No, we're happy with it."

"The sooner I get out of this spandex, the better," Kurt rolls his eyes.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that. The spandex was _your _idea!" Mercedes yells at Kurt incredulously, yanking at a particularly uncomfortable spot on her arm.

"And we look fabulous in it. That doesn't mean I'm comfortable," he quips.

I laugh at the interaction between them and walk off stage with Santana, Brittany, Rachel, Sam and Puck to sit in the auditorium while the curtain closes in front of team Kurt/Mercedes. Kurcedes? Kurtcedes? Screw it.

Mr. Schue returns with Coach Bieste and Ms. Pillsbury, who Mr. Schue definitely has a crush on. He pulls her seat out for her and my lip curls in disgust. Teachers dating. Gross.

"Everybody ready? Let's get rolling!" Mr. Schue yells at there's movement from behind the curtain before the lights dim and the music to 'She Wolf' starts playing.

They start doing an incredibly familiar routine. I lean forward and realize they memorized the entire routine from the music video. I'm impressed, but I would have been more impressed if they came up with their own.

_S.O.S she is in disguise,__  
__S.O.S she is in disguise,__  
__There's a she wolf in disguise.__  
__Coming out, coming out, coming out._

Tina, the Asian girl I have never spoken to, takes the lead and I find myself enjoying their performance.

_A domesticated girl, that's all you ask of me,__  
__Darling, it is no joke, this is lycanthropy.__  
__Moon's awake now, with eyes wide open.__  
__My body is craving, so feed the hungry._

_I've been devoting myself to you  
Monday to Monday  
And Friday to Friday  
Not getting enough retribution or decent incentives to keep me at it  
Starting to feel just a little abused  
Like a coffee machine in an office  
So I'm gonna go somewhere closer  
To get me a lover and tell you about it_

She moans, and everyone is jaw dropped at how inappropriately sexy this is. I look around and Ms. Pillsbury's hand is covering Schuester's eyes. I chuckle at the sight and notice a different voice for the chorus.

_There's a she wolf in the closet,_

_Open up and set it free._

Mike makes a howling wolf noise in the back while dancing.

_There's a she wolf in the closet,__  
__Let it out so it can breathe._

I didn't realize that Kurt had this kind of voice and he sounds seriously spot-on. Tina takes over once more.

_Sitting across the bar, staring right at her prey,__  
__It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way.__  
__Nocturnal creatures are not so prudent,__  
__The moon's my teacher, and I'm her student._

_To look at the single man I've got on me a special radar,  
And the fire department's hotline in case I get in trouble later.  
Not looking for cute little divas or rich city guys that just want to enjoy.  
I'm having a very good time and behave very bad in the arms of a boy._

They all come together for the finale.

_S.O.S she is in disguise,__  
__S.O.S she is in disguise.__  
__There's a she wolf in disguise,__  
__Coming out, coming out, coming out._

When they finish I'm on my feet cheering with the rest of the glee club. Puck and Sam whistle multiple times and Santana pulls Brittany and me by the arm to go backstage.

We hear Mr. Schue on the microphone, "So I think I'm speaking for all three judges when I say thank you for not including someone in a naked outfit dancing behind bars."

Santana snorts and Brittany says, "That would have been pretty hot."

"You think everything is hot," Santana retorts and kisses her sweetly.

"I think _you're_ hot," Brittany kisses her deeper.

"Guys, performance time, fuck each other later," I try to remind them, shaking off the fact that this is one of the first times I haven't been disgusted by them.

"We're ready when you are!" Mr. Schue exclaims in the microphone and that's our cue.

"This is no different than a Cheerio's competition…especially since we're dancing in front of a bunch of losers. We got this," Santana says confidently, giving us a small pep talk.

I nod and Brittany starts the music, while some guy opens the curtain for us. I smirk at Rachel and know she's about to lose her shit.

Brittany begins rapping and I wasn't sure if it would work out. Turns out, Santana and Brittany singing at each other is just really sexy and a perfect combination.

_I never really knew that she could dance like this,__  
__She makes a woman wants to speak Spanish,__  
__Como se llama (si), bonita (si), mi casa,__  
__Shakira, Shakira_.

Santana begins singing to Brittany and looks at her seductively. I make eye contact with Rachel and her jaw has practically hit the floor. I think I can see her drool from here as she watches me shake my hips. I smile smugly at her before focusing.

_Oh baby, when you talk like that,__  
__You make a woman go mad.__  
__So be wise and keep on__  
__Reading the signs of my body._

_I'm on tonight,__  
__You know my hips don't lie__  
__And I'm starting to feel it's right.__  
__All the attraction, the tension,__  
__Don't you see baby, this is perfection._

They're playful on stage, musical flirting continues until Brittany's rap part comes up. We were all nervous for this because she kept screwing up the lyrics.

_She's so sexy every woman's fantasy a refugee like me,_

_back with the Fugees from a 3rd world country.__  
__I go back like when 'pac carried crates for Humpty Humpty.__  
__I need a whole club dizzy.__  
__Why the CIA wanna watch us?__  
__Colombians and Haitians,__  
__I ain't guilty, it's a musical transaction.__  
__No more do we snatch ropes.__  
__Refugees run the seas 'cause we own our own boats._

She nails it and everyone stands up, cheers and whistles when Brittany is done rapping. I'm beaming on stage while dancing as the song is finishing up.

_Oh, you know I am on tonight and my hips don't lie,__  
__And I am starting to feel it's right,__  
__The attraction, the tension,__  
__Baby, like this is perfection._

The song ends with a bang and Santana and I both hug the life out of Brittany, laughing hysterically. Oddly enough, Cheerio's competitions never quite felt like this.

Rachel is whistling at us and we bow, waiting for the judges comments.

"I think it's illegal for me to say anything so I'm just going to say 'well done'," Mr. Schue exclaims awkwardly with a red face.

Mercedes runs over to a judge's microphone and yells into it, "Santana, girl, your hips really _don't_ lie! Even you can shake it, Quinn, no matter how white you are!" she continues until Coach Bieste makes her go back to her seat.

All of us laugh and it reverberates throughout the auditorium. Rachel walks on stage in the same boring outfit she's been in all day and when she passes me I whisper, "Beat _that_," into her ear.

She chuckles and continues walking behind the curtain with Sam and Puck while Brittany, Santana and I sit back down in the audience, feeling adrenaline coursing through my veins and excitement for Rachel's performance.

"Team Rachel, are you ready?" Mr. Schue's voice carries throughout the auditorium.

The curtains open and Rachel stands in the middle of Puck and Sam.

"The real question is, are _you _ready?" she questions the audience and we cheer for her.

However, I don't think any of us were prepared for what she was about to do.

In one, swift motion, she and the guys pull off their shirts. The boys are bare-chested and Rachel herself has a red bra on underneath a see-through shirt covered in holes that barely reaches her stomach. She pulls off her sweatpants and she has on black shorts so short that they should be _illegal_.

I lean forward in my chair and watch her, knowing at the back of my mind I should be staring at Puck and Sam without their shirts on. Sure, they're hot, but they're not doing to me what Rachel is right now. I feel a burning at the pit of my stomach and try to steady my breathing. Unfamiliar heat pools between my thighs and I unsuccessfully cross and uncross my legs trying to suppress it.

When I don't think it could get any worse, she starts to sing her beautiful, gift-from-God voice.

_Lucky you were born that far away so__  
__We could both make fun of distance.__  
__Lucky that I love a foreign land for__  
__The lucky fact of your existence._

_Baby I would climb the Andes solely,  
To count the freckles on your body.  
Never could imagine there were only  
Ten Million ways to love somebody._

_Can't you see,  
I'm at your feet._

I am in physical pain, clenching my thighs so tightly together. I call out to Mr. Schue in a pained voice, "Mr. Schue, is she even _allowed _to dress like that?"

Everyone in the audience looks at me with wide eyes and he calls back.

"Are you kidding? Of course she's not, but look at what all of you are wearing. She's not going to be treated any differently. Geez, Quinn, you're wearing a bikini top!" he stresses in a hushed whisper, making a point to cover his eyes, and I pout.

I look up panicked and nervously, just in time for her to make eye contact with me with playful eyes.

_Lucky that my lips not only mumble,__  
__They spill kisses like a fountain.__  
__Lucky that my breasts are small and humble,__  
__So you don't confuse them with mountains.__  
__Lucky I have strong legs like my mother,__  
__To run for cover when I need it.__  
__And these two eyes that for no other,__  
__The day you leave will cry a river._

_Whenever, wherever,__  
__We're meant to be together__  
__I'll be there and you'll be near,__  
__And that's the deal my dear._

_Thereover, hereunder,  
You've got me head over heels.  
There's nothing left to fear  
If you really feel the way I feel._

She winks at me at the very end and the lights go out just in time for the glee club to be on their feet screaming for her. I join them, with the ache in between my thighs dulling. I have no idea why Rachel had that effect on me and I don't understand it one bit, or what it means.

_Maybe that's what it feels like to be aroused_.

But why would Rachel have that effect on me?

I bite my lip as the lights go back on and Mr. Schue is collaborating with the other judges for results. The room is buzzing with discussions, excitement and nervousness for the results. I already know who stole the show tonight without having to listen to find out. And she was right, _I liked it_. I don't even mind losing.

"Alright, everybody ready for the winning team?" he asks us and we yell an affirmative response at him.

"In third place, with awesome outfit replicas and memorization of routine, Team Kurtcedes!" he exclaims and we cheer for them.

"Drum roll, please," he teases and Puck responds dutifully hitting the floor with his hands on stage.

"In second place, with an original routine and an innovative song, Team Santana!" he shouts and we beam at each other.

I look at Santana for approval, mostly to see if she will freak out, and she quotes _Bring It On._

"Second place? _Hell yeah_!" she shouts and we laugh, hugging each other, as it's a movie we've all seen about a hundred times.

"Which means in first place, obviously, is Team Rachel for an overall outstanding performance!" Ms. Pillsbury yells into the microphone, picking up the slack for Mr. Schue.

We cheer for them and she bows, gracefully accepting the gift certificate to Breadsticks from Schuester.

She beams at me from on stage and I shake my head back and forth in astonishment with a grin. She was right, of course. She kicked my ass.

After we all head our separate ways, Rachel runs up next to me in the hallway.

"I was going to yell, 'wait up', but I thought that would be unoriginal," she states.

"Good job, you were amazing," I admit to her.

"I know. So are you going to be my Breadsticks date or not?" she asks me hopefully.

"To be honest with you Rachel, I would say yes, but that would be very public and everyone from McKinley goes there…" I trail off, hoping she'll understand this rejection.

"How about take out?" she grins at me.

"You're incorrigible," I retort.

"Is that a yes?" she asks.

"Absolutely," I playfully shove her shoulder.

We walk out into the parking lot and Brittany is on top of Santana's lap in the passenger's seat of her car. Rachel chuckles at them and looks at me, waving her keys back and forth in front of my face.

"Need a lift?"

* * *

**A/N: The songs are: **_**She Wolf, Hips Don't Lie **_**and **_**Whenever, Wherever **_**respectively by Shakira. You should watch the music videos on YouTube for costume ideas and especially **_**She Wolf**_** for the routine.**


	6. Vegan Chocolate Chip Cookies

**A/N: Holy shit! I sorely underestimated you, my wonderful fans. Over 50 reviews in 36 hours—amazing!**

**Thank you so much for reading, alerting and reviewing! My writing would be worthless without you.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Six: Vegan Chocolate Chip Cookies**

"You're going to blow out our eardrums!" I shout at Rachel from the passenger's seat, wind blowing in my face from the wide open windows.

"I can't hear you!" she yells with her head bobbing up and down at the music.

I reach out and lower the volume.

"I said, you're going to blow out our eardrums," I repeat in a lower voice rubbing my ears.

"Who cares? This is how you're supposed to drive in weather like this. Windows down, blasting some good music, beautiful girl at your side," she chuckles and winks at me, stopping at a red light.

My cheeks feel hot from the compliment and I try to cover them nonchalantly but she reaches out and gently pries my hand away from my face.

"I think it's cute when you blush," she insists with her hand lingering on top of my own.

I pull my hand away and say, "Okay, enough before I combust. You ought to be more careful in your beautiful car."

"I _wish _it was mine! I love this car so much," she says wistfully.

"Someday you'll learn to love whatever piece of crap car you get, as long as you can call it your own," I tell her, thinking of the day I buy my own car.

She laughs and turns the music back up. The song changes and it sounds incredibly familiar so I grab her iPod to investigate:

_Girls Like You – The Naked And Famous_

I turn towards Rachel and she's no longer enjoying herself. She has a frown on her face and it's her turn to blush profusely.

It hits me that this is the same song she sang to me angrily in glee club the day of Puck's party. The original is really good, especially with the musical arrangement. I'll never forget the passion Rachel displayed, though. I feel like, at least when it comes to music, I'll always prefer Rachel.

We both sit awkwardly with blushes on our cheeks when she lowers the volume so I can hear her speak.

"I'm sorry about that, you know," she admits.

"To be fair, I was quite the bitch to you," I acknowledge.

"Wait, wait, what do you mean '_was_'?" she asks in mock sincerity and then laughs when I slap her on the arm.

"Hey, watch it! I'm driving here, God. You are _such _a distraction!" she exclaims.

"Get real, you were blasting music just two seconds ago," I chuckle and add, "This song is really good."

"Yeah, I'm a huge _Naked and Famous_ fan. This song reminds me of Jackie…" she trails off at the end.

I frown thoughtfully and ask, "So why sing it to me?"

"You reminded me of Jackie, like you were both sides of the same coin. All of you Cheerio's were the same to me. I was singing it to all of you," she shrugs.

"And now?" I prod nervously.

"And now, what?" she looks at me puzzled.

"Do you think I'm like her now?" I ask and bite my bottom lip, waiting anxiously for a response.

Rachel stays silent for a few minutes before pulling into the Breadsticks parking lot. I pull my hood over my head and she eyes me playfully.

"Hiding from your minions?" she teases.

"You never know when one of them is lurking," I explain and add, "Are you going to answer my question?"

"Quinn," she breathes softly and my heart speeds up when her eyes bore into mine. "You and Jackie may be part of the same world, but you're _nothing_ like her," she insists.

"I'm not a superficial, narcissistic bitch with a superiority complex, then?" I snort sarcastically.

"Well, maybe not the superficial part," she chuckles and gets out of the front seat before leaning back into the window.

"What do you want?" she asks curiously, waving her victory gift certificate around.

"Surprise me," I say, shrugging.

I watch her hips sway as she walks towards the entrance and find myself licking my lips as I look at her tan, lengthy legs. There's nothing wrong with acknowledging how attractive another girl is, nothing abnormal about it.

Absolutely nothing.

"I am going to eat the entire menu."

My ears perk up and I panic, dropping down low in my seat. _I know that voice_.

Sure enough, when I peak out the window I see Santana and Brittany walking hand in hand through the parking lot.

"I want a cookie, and pasta, and another cookie, and pickles!" Brittany tells Santana.

"Baby, I'll get you anything you want," Santana says and kisses Brittany on the cheek who beams back and throws her arms around her.

I tilt my head at them and despite blushing, I wonder how I never noticed how real their love was for one another until now. Curious for me to suddenly see something that's been right in front of me all along. Just because I don't love Finn doesn't mean it's not a real, palpable thing.

As Rachel walks back out with a to-go bag in her hand I feel happier and lighter at the sight of her; I wonder what that means.

I stop breathing when I see Santana and Brittany walking towards her. I expect to see Santana insult her, perhaps even push her. What would I even do in that situation? Could I stand up to Santana for Rachel? What I don't expect is for Brittany to pounce on her with a hug and Santana to loosely shake her hand.

When Rachel enters the car she has a bewildered expression on her face and she hands me the bag.

"What the _hell_ was that?" I ask her curiously.

"I—I don't know! She said I did a really good job today performing," Rachel admits with wide, shocked eyes and runs her hand through her hair.

"_Whoa_," I mumble, utterly shocked.

"I expected her to try and kill me, considering how much she hates me," Rachel says and puts the car in drive, heading back to her house.

"Actually, I don't think she does," I say thoughtfully and add, "Hate you, I mean."

"Why do you say that?" she asks, startled.

"She never wanted to slushy you that day and she was really quite mad at me for it," I confess and look out the window. "I wonder why she's so kind to you," I mumble under my breath more to myself than to Rachel.

"_Kind_? I'd hardly identify her behavior as kind," she quips.

"You don't know Santana like I do. The way she treats you I would definitely define as kind," I explain.

She turns up the volume and we listen together in silence until we reach her house and she parks out by the curb, taking the key out of the ignition.

"I should probably tell my parents that I'll be out tonight so they don't freak out," I reach towards my bag and take out my phone.

"Why don't you spend the night tonight?" Rachel asks me excitedly, reminding me a bit of Brittany.

"What, like a sleepover?" I respond incredulously, eyebrows raised.

"Isn't that what teenage girls do?" she asks anxiously, biting her lip.

I forget sometimes that Rachel hardly has any friends aside from Puck. I can hardly picture her and Puck giggling side by side and watching movies late into the night. The only sleepovers I've had were with Santana and Brittany, really, and well…

"I really wouldn't know what teenage girls do. Santana and Brittany usually just run off to screw somewhere," I tell her roughly and she laughs.

"Please?" Rachel irresistibly pouts her bottom lip and there's no way I could reject her.

"Yes, okay. Let me just tell my parents," I concede and look at my phone, already nervous for the night ahead.

I have two missed texts:

**Santana**: B and I are at Breadsticks, wanna join us, oh wonderful queen of mine?

**Finn**: I forgive you for being a bitch, wanna chill?

My upper lip curls in disgust at the second text and not for the first time I'm considering how bad it would really be for me to break up with him.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asks delicately, placing a gentle hand on my arm.

"Finn called me a bitch," I mumble and shrug, reveling in Rachel's touch rather than caring about the text.

Rachel growls and yanks her arm away to get out of the car, I follow in astonishment. What did I do?

"What?" I shout to her as she's halfway through crossing her front lawn.

"Why are you even dating that creep? How could you let him talk to you like that?" she snaps, halfway towards her front door and throws her hands up in the air.

I look around nervously for any onlookers, noting that Rachel is causing a scene on her front lawn. Thankfully, there's only a guy walking his dog a few houses down.

"Rachel, you _know_ why we're together," I whisper, hastily walking towards her.

"I'm not quite sure I do. For your _empire_?" she laughs harshly and continues, "Quinn, this is high school!"

I look at her in shock and say nothing, not expecting Rachel to ever be this ruthless.

Eventually, her figure relaxes and she confesses, "I'm sorry. I just hate how he talks to you."

She walks forward to me and takes my hand in hers, playing with my fingers and smiling lightly at the contact. I stifle a hum at the back of my throat and manage to say, "Don't be sorry, I've never had anyone really want to look out for me like this. I really appreciate your concern. And honestly, he's not always such a dick."

She shakes her head in defeat and releases my hand before asking half-heartedly, "Ready to eat?"

I cough and squeeze my empty hand, mumbling, "Yeah, what did you get me?" peering into the bag before she yanks it away from my sight.

"You said you wanted it to be a surprise," she argues, walking away with the bag.

"Uh, you do realize the surprise was in buying it and that I'm supposed to be able to eat eventually, yes?" I ask sarcastically, following her.

"You're such a smartass. Stay here," she leaves me on the front porch, closing the front door behind her. I huff sit on the front step, wondering how things with Rachel can be both so complicated and simple at the same time. I call my mother to tell her that I won't be coming home tonight.

"Hey mom, I just wanted to let you know that I'm sleeping at…Santana's tonight," I tell her, hesitating before Santana's name as I almost told her it was Rachel's.

"Thank you for keeping me informed, Quinnie. Do you need to stop by for some of your things? Is she feeding you?" she asks mechanically and I chuckle into the phone.

"Yes, mom, she's not going to let me starve. And I'll have to get back to you about grabbing some of my things for the night, if that's okay?" I ask, seeking permission.

"Of course, honey, have a good time! I love you," she says warmly into the phone but distracted, probably cooking.

"I love you too, mom," I respond before hanging up and looking in my text message inbox knowing that both Santana and Finn require responses. I tackle Santana's first considering I'm dreading speaking to Finn.

**Me**: Sorry, S, not around. See you tomorrow night at Jackie's!

**Santana**: If nothing else, that whore sure can throw a good party.

I laugh lightly at her response and take a minute to compose myself before responding to Finn. _Do I want to apologize_? I can feel the answer to that straight to my core.

**Me**: I'm not sorry, Finn. I'll just see you tomorrow night at Jackie's.

I know he'll text me back momentarily and instead of waiting around for a response, I throw my phone back in the bag and resolve to spend this night with Rachel drama-free. She exits the house just in time wearing a hoodie, carrying a stuffed backpack and the Breadsticks bag.

I raise an eyebrow at her with a smirk and she sticks her tongue out at me and starts walking around her house to her backyard

"Wait, where are we going?" I yell, catching up to her, grabbing her by the arm and waiting for an explanation.

She pauses and explains, "Just because we can't eat in public doesn't mean we can't eat _out_," which causes me to blush profusely and my mouth opens.

"Not like that. Your head is _so_ in the gutter," she giggles at me.

"I never used to be like this!" I counter, pointing my finger at her and blaming her.

"I'm sure it's my evil, lesbian influence," she grins and smacks my finger away, leading the way through the woods in the yard.

"Don't you think if that was the case I would have caught something from Santana by now?" I ask and she laughs again, not bothering to respond.

At first, I thought that we were trying to force our way through the trees. It's only now that I notice the slight trail on the course we've been walking and Rachel seems to know the way, turning exactly at certain rocks and obvious trail markers. I look up at the faded yellow sky, turning a bright orange and red.

"Rachel, the sun will be going down soon. Are you sure you know where you're going?" I ask her anxiously, looking around and not seeing a single exit.

"You're not—um—trying to kill me, are you?" I ask, biting my lip and stopping next to a tree.

"_What_?" Rachel whips around so fast that she walks into a tree and stumbles backwards, looking at me bewildered.

"Well, it's not exactly like I know where we're going! For all I know, you're going to feed me to a bear," I admit and cross my arms defensively, searching the area around me for danger.

"Holy shit, Quinn, if I was going to kill you _why _would I have brought the food?" she asks, gesturing towards the take out bag.

"That doesn't explain what's in the poofy, ominous backpack!" I shout and she smacks herself on the forehead.

She steps forward until our faces are only mere inches apart. Rachel's skin is flawless and her eyes are bright. Suddenly, I'm hyperaware of how alone we are out here in the woods. My eyes shift towards her lips and she licks them, leaving a glossy wetness behind that I've become fixated on.

"Do you trust me, Quinn?" she asks huskily, snapping me out of my fascination.

I respond automatically, "Yes," still gazing at her lips.

Rachel's eyes twinkle and she keeps me in my trance for another moment before turning back around, continuing in whatever direction we're heading.

"Then be quiet because we're almost there," she demands and I chuckle at her, always like her to break the tension.

After a few more minutes she yells, "Aha!" and pushes through a few branches, holding them back for me to walk though.

I hesitate and cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at her and asking, "You're not going to smack me with those, are you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," she grins playfully and gestures for me to walk through them.

I huff and brace myself, storming through and secretly hoping she doesn't smack me in the face with the branches. When I reach the other side I peek out one of my eyes and she's already released the branches and is pulling a blanket out of her backpack.

"See? Not exactly a weapon," she teases, flattening out the corners and I roll my eyes—clearly embarrassed.

I take in the scene around me and my breath hitches at the beautiful sunset. We're high up on a hill on a grassy patch of bare land. The trees continue farther down the hill and extend for miles; if I focus my eyes I can see houses far off in the distance.

"Rachel, this is—" I can't even finish the sentence. She and I are completely alone up here and it's the most beautiful, peaceful place I've ever been. _Why do I feel so anxious_?

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she whispers from directly behind me and I jump. She places a hand on my lower back and I close my eyes at the contact.

"Easy, Quinn. You're safe you know," she continues.

"How on earth did you find this?" I ask her breathlessly, turning around to face her.

"I liked to hike when I was growing up. Nobody knows about this, not even my dads," she tells me shyly.

"So this is…our secret?" I gulp as the steps towards me lessening the space between us, making it almost nonexistent.

"Ours," she nods and reaches out, pushing a stray strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear.

I lean forward unconsciously, noting a large red flag in the back of my mind and completely ignoring it. Maybe these things aren't supposed to be rationalized. Confusion flashes in her eyes and I leap backwards, causing us both to snap out of it and I point towards the food on the blanket.

"You can be really lame," I say after a minute with a blush still on my cheeks, coughing gently.

"Lame or romantic? Same thing," she says and shrugs, her cheeks are flushed and she pushes her hand behind her ear.

I sit down and pat the ground next to me which she immediately takes.

"So, what's mine?" I ask, looking around at the food.

"I thought you would have figured it out by now," she grins and hands me a bowl of pasta Carbonara; my mouth waters at the sight. I take a bite out of it and moan loudly.

"Oh yum, this is _so_ good!" I say with a mouthful of bacon-y pasta.

Rachel chuckles before reaching for her own vegan dish and eating it gracefully. Suddenly, I'm very aware of the sauce on the side of my lip and how much of a pig I must look to her. She leans forward and wipes it off with her thumb, smiling at me warmly the whole time and allowing butterflies to erupt in my stomach.

"I purchased bacon for you. Feel honored," she says, wiping the sauce from my lip onto a napkin.

"It was _free_ bacon," I correct her, fighting the butterflies as they make it difficult to eat.

"Yes, well, gift certificate or not, I still chose bacon because I know how much you love it," she says with intense eyes.

I feel heat in the pit of my stomach and grin down shyly at the pasta. We eat in silence for a few moments and when we're done, the both of us lean back on our hands and watch the sunset together. My eyes keep flickering towards her left hand and how close it is to mine. My fingers are involuntarily inching towards hers.

"What's next on the agenda?" she asks suddenly and I pull my hand back.

_Stupid, what are you thinking, trying to hold her hand?_

I rub at the hand as though it's been burned and she looks at me puzzled.

I come up with something quickly, "Uh, I don't know. What's a good dinner without dessert?"

She grins mischievously and says, "Come on, I've got an idea."

She stands up and holds out her hand to me to help me up.

After easily climbing back down the hill in a matter of minutes, we enter her house and she throws the take out bag in the trash. We go into the kitchen and I wonder where her fathers currently are, anxiously looking around every corner.

Rachel, who seems to be sensing my anxiety shrugs and says, "They should be around here somewhere."

She takes various ingredients out of the fridge and I lean up against the doorway watching her work her magic. She preheats the oven and looks at me expectantly after all the ingredients are laid out on the island.

"Well?" she asks me expectantly.

"I have no idea what's going on," I admit truthfully and put my hands up.

"Cookies!" she exclaims as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"What are the eggs for? I thought you were a vegan?" I ask confused, pointing towards the egg carton.

"For your batch, _duh_," she says and rolls her eyes.

"I don't want my own batch. I want to eat your batch," I say seriously and we're both silent for a minute before we laugh together.

"Gutter brain," she says in between laughs.

"Guilty. You were right along there with me, pumpkin," I tease and grin as she blushes at the pet name.

"You're going to love vegan chocolate chip cookies," she tells me while pouring some ingredients into a bowl.

"What do you use as the egg substitute?" I ask curiously from over her shoulder.

She hesitates and leans lightly back into me. I place my hand on her lower back to steady her and she answers softly, "Ener-G egg replacer."

"So, you've got a playlist for baking?" I pull her iPod out of her back pocket and grin at her. She puts it into a portable iPod player already located in the kitchen.

"Do I ever," she beams and puts on a very upbeat song that I find myself dancing along to while helping Rachel with ingredients.

Rachel picks up the mixing spoon and sings into it, while I dance with her.

_We cut the legs off of our pants,__  
__Threw our shoes into the ocean.__  
__Sit back and wave through the daylight,__  
__Sit back and wave through the daylight._

_Slip and slide on subway grates,_  
_These shoes are poor mans ice skates._  
_Fall through like change in the daylight,_  
_Fall through like change in the daylight._

_I miss yellow lines in my roads,_  
_Some color on monochrome._  
_Maybe I'll paint them in myself,_  
_Maybe I'll paint them in myself._

_These sidewalks liquid then stone,_  
_Building walls and an old pay phone._  
_It rings like all through the daylight,_  
_It rings like all through the daylight._

_And in the daylight we can hitchhike to Maine,_  
_I hope that someday I'll see without these frames._  
_And in the daylight I don't pick up my phone,_  
_Because in the daylight anywhere feels like home._

I reach over and toss some flour at her, interrupting her singing. She blinks at me heavily and narrows her eyes at me before throwing a chocolate chip at my forehead.

I grin at her and say, "You're dead," before throwing a fistful of flour at her clothes. She runs over and takes the hose attached to the sink out and sprays me with water as I scream and run away, laughing hysterically with her.

"You're even more careless with your kitchen than you are with your car!" I scream at her, hidden behind a kitchen chair.

"What's this I hear about my 1969 Mustang?" Hiram walks in with Leroy in tow, looking around the mess of a kitchen with an unpleasant expression.

I peer out from behind the chair and immediately stand up at attention, looking very foolish while dripping wet.

Rachel and I make eye contact while she's still holding the hose, trying to remain very still and silent—until she chokes on a laugh and I narrow my eyes at her.

"Quinn, honey, are you planning on making a mess of our house every time you come over?" Leroy asks me plainly and my face flushes in fear.

"It wasn't—I—I'm sorry, I know I started it but—Rachel with the hose—" I panic and trip over different responses, stuttering.

Leroy bursts into a smile and says, "Relax, kid, I'm just teasing you."

I breathe out a sigh of relief and Rachel laughs at me hysterically, "_You should have seen your face_!"

"I wouldn't laugh if I were you, Ms. Berry. What's this I hear about carelessness with _my _car?" Hiram glares at Rachel whose smug grin is quickly wiped off her face.

"I'm not careless, daddy, I swear! I just like to play my music loudly, you know that," she finishes lamely while putting the hose back in its spot on the sink.

"That's an understatement," I snort under my breath and start to shiver from being soaked.

"Rachel, go give your guest some dry clothes, would you? She's freezing to death in my beautiful mess of a kitchen," Leroy tells her and she walks over to grab my hand and pull me upstairs.

"And don't forget to come down and clean this!" he yells after us up the stairs.

Rachel pulls me into my room and throws a towel around me, rubbing my shoulders up and down and grinning affectionately at me.

"You're really soaked," she whispers, rubbing up and down and making me warm.

"At least I'm not covered in flour," I whisper back, laughing lightly and gently touching her flour-stained cheek. She closes her eyes for the briefest of moments, leaning into my touch, before leaving the towel draped around my shoulders and walking over to her dresser. She pulls out a pair of her sweatpants and _V for Vendetta _t-shirt out of a drawer for me to change into.

"Thanks," I say softly, fingering the cloth.

"I'm going to go shower to get all this stuff off me," she tells me, avoiding my gaze and grabbing her own clothes. She adds over her shoulder, "I won't be long. Make yourself at home."

I change out of my wet clothes and hang them over her desk chair for them to dry. I put on Rachel's clothes, which are incredibly comfortable, and I smell the shirt. It smells like her—like vanilla. _If warmth had a scent, it would be Rachel_. I wonder what caused her to pull away from me?

I walk downstairs and into the kitchen which is already being mopped and cleaned up by her fathers, despite their yelling at us to clean it up. I feel a pang in my chest when I realize just how much they really love her. I back out of the room and get my bag in the hall to text my mother, ignoring the texts from Finn.

**Me: I won't need to head home tonight for an overnight back, Santana lent me some clothes. See you tomorrow, love you!**

I drop my phone back in the bag and leave it next to the door, resolving to help clean up in the kitchen. To my disappointment when I enter it's just about finished.

"You wanna come help me with this?" Leroy asks as he's placing tiny mounds of cookie dough on a baking sheet, finishing what Rachel and I started.

"Yeah, of course!" I practically trip over my feet and he laughs at me.

"Are you ever going to loosen up around here?" he asks gently as I grab some cookie dough and form it into a circle on the sheet.

"Give me a couple weeks," I mumble, fumbling with the dough.

"Perfect," Hiram says after he's apparently cleaned up all of our mess.

"Sorry," I blush at him and look away.

"Nonsense. It's nice to see Rachel having so much fun," he grins at me.

"You know I didn't mean what I said about the car, right? Rachel is a really good driver, she just almost blew out my eardrums," I tell him while grabbing another blob of cookie dough.

He chuckles and responds, "I know. I just love teasing her about it. Can you keep a secret?"

I nod and he narrows his eyes at me, "This is super confidential. If you tell Rachel you're banned from the house forever."

I gulp and Leroy hits Hiram on the arm, "Honey, can you not scare her? Quinn, don't listen to him—he's being over dramatic."

"Well, sir, I can keep a secret. I promise," I tell him honestly, knowing that I'm keeping the biggest secret of all right now.

"Thatta girl," he grins at me and adds in a low voice, "I'm planning on giving Rachel the Mustang for her birthday in a few weeks."

My jaw drops and I look at him in astonishment. His 1969 beautiful black Mustang, he's giving to his daughter when she turns 18. I almost can't even believe it.

"What? What's wrong? Is that a bad idea? Should I buy her something?" he immediately panics and backtracks. I need to do damage control.

"No! No, no! She's go absolutely crazy! I know how much she loves that car; she'll never expect you to give it to her," I assure him.

"Then what was the look for?" he asks curiously.

"That was my own baggage. I'm lucky to get a book on my birthday, if anything at all," I tell him with a small laugh. Unfortunately, he doesn't see the humor in it.

He frowns and mumbles something like 'conservative assholes' before leaving the kitchen to Leroy and myself.

"I have something to ask you, Quinn, and I hope you don't find it offensive," Leroy says while placing one of the last bits of cookie dough on the tray.

"Okay, shoot," I say nervously, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed.

"What's a girl like you hanging out with my Rachel? I know that must sound overprotective, but Rachel hasn't had a friend around the house that isn't Noah since Jaclyn. As far as I understand it, Jaclyn abandoned Rachel's _friendship_ in exchange for the elite Cheerio lifestyle," he tells me with an emphasis on the word 'friendship' which makes me believe that he knows they had a relationship.

If only he knew how that pathetic girl hit on my Rachel today.

_My Rachel?_

I wash my hands free of cookie dough in the sink while contemplating his question. I let out a shaky breath and make the hard decision to be honest with him.

"I'll be honest with you. Rachel—Rachel isn't the most popular girl in school, which I think you already know. In the high school world, I shouldn't be hanging out with her. If I had any sense of self-preservation I wouldn't be," I hesitate and add, "If it were my call, Rachel would be the most popular girl in school. I think she's talented, funny, interesting, intelligent—I think she's amazing. Nobody knows that we've been spending time together, because I'm scared," I bite my lip and fight off tearing up before finishing, "She's worth it, though."

Leroy looks at me with respect and places a hand on my shoulder. Rachel walks into our emotionally charged moment and looks between both of us with a confused expression.

"You're a good kid," he says and pats me on the back before placing the cookies in the oven and walking out of the kitchen.

I look after him incredulously and feel unfamiliar fatherly warmth spread throughout my body.

"What was that about?" she asks me with a warm hand on my shoulder.

I place my hand over hers and respond softly, "I honestly don't know. What's next on the sleepover to-do list?"

"I think now we watch a scary movie," she says and intertwines our fingers, pulling me lightly up the stairs into her 'play' room.

"Do you want to pick one?" she asks me, gesturing towards her giant DVD library.

I shake my head, "I want to watch something neither of us has seen before."

"Time to break out the Netflix," Rachel responds seriously and I giggle at her inner nerd.

I sit down on the couch and pull the blanket from the arm over me, curling up into a ball with my legs next to me. After turning on her Xbox, she sits down next to me with the controller. I generously hold out the blanket for her to join me underneath. She beams at me and pulls it over herself, pulling my legs onto her lap. As she focuses on the TV, I close my eyes feeling extremely comfortable and warm with her.

"What about _Paranormal Activity 3_?" she asks suddenly and I jump out of an almost-asleep state.

"But I haven't seen the first or second," I admit—I'm not a fan of scary movies.

"Neither have I. The way I understand it is you don't need to for them to make sense. Also, the third is a prequel," she explains.

"I'm in if you're in, but if I jump on you it doesn't mean anything. Horror movies scare the shit out of me," I warn her.

"I think I can handle that," she grins at me and winks.

"Mind out of the gutter, Rach," I roll my eyes and she looks at me in amazement.

"What, what'd I say?" I sit up anxiously, very confused.

"You just called me 'Rach'," she whispers softly with glowing eyes.

"I—well—yeah, I guess I did," I run my fingers through my hair.

"I loved it," she admits in a low voice with pink cheeks.

"Don't get used to it, Berry," I tease her but grab her hand and hold onto it. A blush is forming on my cheeks but I pretend to ignore it and stare at the TV screen.

She intertwines our fingers together and presses the play button. As pathetic as I am, all it took was the earthquake for me to jump onto Rachel and bury my face in her neck. I have my arms around her neck and her arm is holding me around my waist, the other is on top of my legs lying across her lap.

"I don't think this is generally what happens during sleepovers," she says huskily.

"Shut up," I whisper with my eyes clenched shut, noting that Rachel is wrong. This is what happens when Santana and Brittany have sleepovers.

While watching the movie, Rachel gently caresses my lower back with her hand. I close my eyes and bite my lip, trying to maintain my composure. That's when I realize that I'm essentially sitting on her lap, while she rubs sensual circles on my back. Her thumb occasionally touches the skin that's protruding where my shirt is rising up. The contact makes me shiver and gives me goose bumps.

The heat is forming once again between my legs and I close my eyes, biting my lip hard. This cannot be happening; I cannot be attracted to her. I cannot want her to touch me. And yet…

"Are you cold?" Rachel turns to me and asks, referring to the goose bumps.

I gaze deeply into her eyes and continue to bite my lip. Her movement along my lower back instantly stops and I feel my heart pounding, threatening to burst out of my chest. I shift forward on her lap a bit and her eyes dart back and forth between my eyes and my lips.

I lean in and kiss her…on her cheek. Her breath hitches and the skin underneath my lips is soft and warm. I pull my lips away and lean my forehead against hers.

"What was that for?" she whispers breathlessly.

"I have no idea," I admit quietly.

One of her fathers knocks on the door and I jump away, standing up in the middle of the room. Rachel looks at me with a bemused expression before telling him to come in.

"I just thought you'd want to know that the cookies are done. What is this, charades?" he looks back and forth between me standing awkwardly in front of the TV and Rachel sitting comfortably on the couch.

"Haha, dad, you're so funny. You're like a comedian," Rachel says sarcastically while walking past him out the door.

"I thought it was clever, Leroy," I assure him and pat him on the arm before following Rachel, trying to ignore what he had almost walked in on.

"Hey, I'm hilarious!" he shouts after us and I chuckle, wandering into the kitchen a moment later.

"Mmm," Rachel moans with chocolate melted on her lip.

"Rachel, isn't that a bit hot?" I fight the urge to laugh at her.

"I don't even care, they're so good. Here," she holds one out for me to bite. I bite into the cookie and am immediately met by gooey, chocolately goodness.

"Oh my God," I mumble in between chews and add, "It's like an orgasm in my mouth."

She wipes the chocolate off the corner of my mouth with her finger and licks it, which causes the pit of my stomach to burn again.

Hiram walks in and says, "Am I interrupting something, ladies?"

I'm the first to respond, "Of course not," and Rachel frowns at me, holding out a cookie for her father to take.

"Rachel, have I ever told you how much I love your vegan chocolate chip cookies? Because they're really the only reason I keep you around," he states matter-of-factly and she throws a cookie at him, which he catches and bites into viciously. He turns around and comes back in, taking half the plate of cookies with him as he goes.

"These are Quinn's batch! I'll make you more this weekend!" she yells after him, pleading for him to bring them back.

"Too bad. This is the price you paid for making me clean up your mess," he says, shoving cookies into his mouth.

"Give me those!" she tackles him and jumps up and down trying to reach the cookies he's holding above her head.

I laugh loudly at the sight and have to sit on the ground to steady myself.

"Quinn, come! We're finishing our movie," she growls and takes the plate with only a few cookies left in it up the stairs with her. I give Hiram a high-five on my way past him through the hall.

We go back in the room and play the movie, finishing our cookies in silence. When the plate is finished we sit close together, though drastically further apart than before her father interrupted us. I hold onto her hand for support and it shoots warm tingles throughout my body. She leans her head against my shoulder and I stiffen before I allow myself to relax and place my head on top of hers.

The movie sufficiently terrifies me and Rachel has to hold my hand all the way back to her room.

"Berry, there's no way I can sleep alone tonight," I admit embarrassingly.

"Neither can I," she agrees and sits on the bed, pointing towards the other side for me.

I walk around it and lay down as close to the edge as I possibly can. The idea of me being in bed with her makes me very nervous and the butterflies are making it practically impossible to sleep. However, the idea of me sleeping alone seems even worse. She gets out of bed to turn the light off and I feel the bed dip on her side, inching closer to me.

"So, Jackie's tomorrow night?" she asks me to fill the dark silence.

I mull over the possibility of skipping the party all together and simply spending the weekend with Rachel before acknowledging, "I have to make an appearance."

"That's okay, we can secretly go together," Rachel whispers.

"I can't wait to see how you figure that one out," I scoff and grin.

Rachel reaches out and intertwines our fingers in between us. I close my eyes at the contact and allow the warmth to fill me and quell all my irrational fears.

"Goodnight, Quinn," she says quietly.

"Sweet dreams, Rach," I whisper and Rachel hums.

* * *

**A/N: The song is "Daylight" by Matt & Kim. It's very much the fun soundtrack to this entire chapter and everyone should take 3 minutes to go listen to it.**


	7. Tongue Tied

**A/N: I had a family emergency, I'm sorry.**

**Thank you all so much for the alerts, favorites and especially reviews. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Seven: Tongue Tied**

I feel light on my face and growl, desperately trying to fight it off and burying my face into my warm pillow. Until the pillow giggles. The one eye I have exposed to the room shoots open and I realize my pillow is no pillow at all, but rather a comfortable, vanilla-scented Rachel Berry. I sit up and look down at her, back and forth between my side of the bed and her, wondering how the hell I ended up over here. She looks up at me with a crooked smile and her hands behind her head.

I roll away from her so quickly I land on the floor with a loud thud and embarrassing yelp, grasping at the sheet in an effort to hold myself up on the way down and yanking it with me.

"Stupid, mother fu—worthless sheet—I hate the morning—" I mumble furiously as I attempt to stand back up, pulling the mess of a sheet with me and blowing my hair out of my face with a huff.

"Good morning?" Rachel giggles and I glare at her, walking towards the door to go to the bathroom. I trip on the sheet and throw it to the ground in frustration which makes Rachel laugh harder.

I walk down the hall and hear the TV on downstairs with light conversation between the Berry men. _Is everyone here an early riser_?

I close the door lightly behind me and it emits a slight creaking sound before locking into place. I exhale and lean on the sink, looking into my reflection and seeing someone different staring back at me. Not to mention that I look really awful in the morning.

I splash some water on my face and pull my hair back into a ponytail before returning to Rachel's bedroom. After gently pushing the door open, I see Rachel lying in a similar position as before on her bed but this time with a Harry Potter book in hand: she's on the seventh.

I walk back around to my side of the bed, carefully sidestepping the precariously tangled sheet on the floor and lie back down on my stomach. I pry my head up on my hands and watch her patiently. She places the book down across her chest and smiles at me.

"Better?" she asks, folding her hands across her book.

"Why does everyone in your house wake up so early?" I grumble and rub at my eyes.

"When did 10:30 in the morning become early?" Rachel chuckles and points to the clock.

"Wait, it's 10:30? It feels earlier," I huff and bury my face in my pillow.

Rachel runs her hand over my back and a moan escapes my mouth into the pillow. She presses lightly and massages my shoulders before stopping suddenly and asking, "Ready for breakfast?"

"But that felt good," I whine at the absence of her hands.

"Maybe you'll get a massage later tonight," she says huskily.

"In your dreams," I retort before sticking my tongue out at her.

She frowns at me and gets out of bed in annoyance then walks over to the door and sniffs before saying, "I smell bacon."

I jump out of bed so quickly that I forget about the sheet mess on the floor and I trip once more over it, producing a laugh from Rachel. I blush profusely as I pass her in the doorway, walking downstairs.

Sure enough, when I reach the bottom of the stairs my mouth is watering from the scent of food. I hear the crackling and popping of bacon in a pan and walk into the kitchen where I'm struck with Rachel's dads making out against the island.

Oh my God. I cover my mouth with my hand, immediately closing my eyes and slowly back out into the hallway.

"Quinn? What's wrong—OH MY GOD, DAD, DADDY—WHAT ON EARTH—YOU JUST SCARRED QUINN FOR LIFE—" Rachel walks in on her parents and covers her eyes while yelling at them.

"Oh, please, like she's never seen two people kissing before," Hiram responds sarcastically but moves away from his husband to pour himself a mug of hot coffee and sit at the table.

"It's safe to come in now, Quinn," Leroy yells to me.

I enter the kitchen with red cheeks, incredibly embarrassed.

"Well, this batch is ruined," Leroy throws the burnt bacon into the trash and takes some more out of the fridge, hiding a slight flush on his cheeks.

Hiram is eying me thoughtfully as though he knows I slept on his daughter all night. There's nothing to be guilty about. It's not like I did anything...dirty. My eyes shift to Rachel's legs and my mouth starts to water in a way that's completely unrelated to the freshly cooking bacon.

Rachel pops a grape into her mouth and winks at me before throwing one at my chest, perfectly landing in between my breasts so I have to fish it out.

"Oh hell no, girls, it's too early for that," Hiram commands with his cup of coffee pressed against his lips.

For Hiram I take the high road and throw the grape into the garbage rather than at Rachel.

She grins at me and as I pass her, I hiss, "You'll pay for that."

I fill a glass of water at the sink and sit warily next to Hiram, rightfully expecting some future awkwardness.

"So Quinn, you have seen kissing before, no? I mean, it's something you've experienced firsthand with your boyfriend, I would assume," Hiram says sarcastically.

I choke on my glass of water and Rachel is mouthing wordlessly at him, blatantly appalled.

"Yeah, I've kissed a few people..." I manage to choke out.

"But you haven't kissed another girl?" he asks stoically without a trace of amusement on his face but I know he's secretly enjoying this.

"Dad, oh my God, I'm never having Quinn over again. I'm never making you cookies _again_!" Rachel yells at him and apologetically places her hand on my knee, the contact makes me shiver and I think Hiram notices.

"I've kissed Rachel before," I say out loud without really thinking it through so he spits his coffee everywhere and Leroy drops a dish.

"I'm sorry, was I there for that? I feel like I'd remember something like that. We must be talking about another Rachel," Rachel asks me sarcastically and narrows her eyes at me.

"I just meant I kissed you on the cheek before..." I mumble ashamedly with a blush and both Hiram and Leroy close their eyes in relief.

"Hey, what's wrong with Quinn kissing me?" Rachel asks them defensively.

"Rachel, seriously? In your dreams," I whisper.

"Why in her dreams? Do you have an issue with kissing our daughter?" Hiram asks me heatedly.

"No, sir, I'm just not a lesbian. And weren't you just relieved that I'm not kissing her?" I argue, looking back and forth between her fathers.

"Hey, leave me out of this!" Leroy quickly exclaims and continues cooking breakfast.

"But you looked relieved too! What's wrong with me?" I ask them anxiously.

Rachel hits her forehead on the table in an effort to knock herself out. I place my hand in front of her head to cushion the blow.

"Don't do that, I like your head," I tell her in a low voice. She keeps her head on my hand but no longer tries hitting it.

"Quinn, honey, there's nothing wrong with you...per say. We just don't want Rachel dating another cheerleader. That was a train wreck," Hiram admits.

"Quinn is nothing like Jackie!" Rachel bellows, sitting up quickly.

"Sweetheart, she's from the same world," he says warily.

"Not to mention I'm straight and sitting _right here_," I pipe up and they both glare at me for interrupting them. I throw my hands up in surrender and walk to the stove in an attempt to help Leroy move breakfast along quicker.

"Jackie wasn't even a cheerleader when we were together!" Rachel quips.

"She left you to become one, what does that tell you!" Hiram counters.

They continue arguing back and forth about a hypothetical situation that will never happen. I start peeling an orange for something to do and look at a blushing Leroy from the corner of my eyes.

"Do you agree with him?" I inquire uneasily and he sighs, putting the bacon on a dish with the spatula.

"You remember the conversation we had last night. It doesn't even matter what I think, it'll never happen anyway. Right?" He looks at me for confirmation and I give him an affirmative head nod with a small amount of guilt squirming in my stomach.

"Right," I gulp, feeling my chest tighten and placing the orange peels in the garbage.

"Now that this has been sufficiently awkward, breakfast is ready," Leroy announces while carrying plates of sizzling bacon and steaming eggs towards the table. My mouth is watering just smelling the mixture and I'm momentarily distracted from the Berry family feud at the table.

"Fighting's over. Time to eat," Leroy declares, placing the plates down somewhat violently and stopping the argument in it's tracked.

"But daddy—" Rachel moves to interject and I tense up, acknowledging that he is in no mood for this.

"No," Leroy places some waffles on her plate which I can only assume are vegan.

"Take whatever you like, Quinn," Hiram tells me and is already passing me the bacon plate.

"Don't talk to her!" Rachel protests, narrowing her eyes at Hiram.

"Eat your food," Leroy reaches over the table and shoves a strawberry into Rachel's mouth to shut her up. I stifle a giggle that bubbles up in my throat by chewing on a piece of bacon.

We eat our breakfast in an awkward silence which I've become unaccustomed to in the Berry household. During the time I've spent here I've noticed that meals generally tend to be full of life and laughter. Unfortunately, this breakfast is filled with angry glances between Rachel and Hiram and Leroy anxiously watching them and waiting to jump in and save the day. Despite all of this, it is still a vastly better Saturday morning breakfast than those I have experienced with my own family.

As I'm shoveling my second helping of scrambled eggs into my mouth, Rachel places her hand on my knee. I lower my fork and see her looking much calmer, with a smile tugging at her lips. I feel better knowing she's no longer in her heightened state of anger at her father, though I feel very special knowing she was fighting him for the sake of my honor.

I reach down and give her hand a light squeeze before returning to my food. After every berry has been eaten, each bacon slice has disappeared and Rachel's pile of vegan waffles is diminished, everyone is completely packed and more or less in a happier mood.

I'm a firm believer that food promotes happiness. On a Sue Sylvester diet, which is essentially just a tiny box of raisins and 5 almonds a day, us girls would become vicious animals. Give us a slice of pizza and it's like we've taken an antivirus.

Rachel and Hiram are avoiding eye contact with one another but trying to help each other with the dishes.

"No, dad, let me wash them. I insist," she prods until he gives her his dirty dish.

I help Rachel wash the dishes as her fathers go upstairs to wash up and get ready for the day. She washes each of them while I stand dutifully by her with a dry towel.

"I'm sorry about them. They're very protective," Rachel says thoughtfully.

"Don't be. They have every reason to worry about me," I shrug and when Rachel looks at me blushing I quickly add, "Not that we're dating or anything. After what you told me about Jackie though I can see why they're on their guard."

After I finish drying the last dish and Rachel puts them away in their respective spots in the cabinets, she looks at me and pouts.

"I guess I should take you home now," she groans with a frown.

I feel discomfort from the idea of being away from Rachel, almost panic. I reach out and lightly place my hand on her arm and comfort her, "I'll see you in a couple of hours at Jackie's."

"I know," she sighs and adds, "but it's not like we'll be able to talk, really."

"I know," I wince guiltily and know it's my fault. I rub her arm gently up and down and gaze into her eyes, trying to convey how sorry I am.

"You're getting better with that," she whispers.

"Better with what?" I ask skeptically.

"Physical contact," she admits and points to my hand on her arm.

I instinctively pull it away and look down at my hand, wondering if I even made the conscious decision to touch her in the first place.

"I hope you don't stop. I just meant, well, before you'd jump across the room if I touched you. You're getting better with it," Rachel acknowledges while beaming at me and I feel my breath completely taken away by the smile.

"I like touching you," I mutter before I even realize what I'm saying and then visibly cover my eyes from embarrassment. "That's so not what I meant—"

"Shh, Quinn, I know what you meant," Rachel giggles and pries my hand away from my eyes. "I like touching you too," she adds and looks at me intently, but with the same warm smile.

"Why is everything more difficult with you? I don't have these issues with Santana," I blurt out while Rachel looks for her car keys in the drawer.

"I'm way more loveable than Santana is. And besides, I'm a new thing for you," she says offhandedly, shuffling things around in the drawer.

"A new thing," I repeat under my breath.

"Well, yeah. When was the last time you've done something for you…for fun?" she inquires and grabs the keys, looking back at me.

"I don't remember before you. I think hanging out with you is the only thing I've done truly for fun in years," I confess.

Rachel looks at me with such warmth and compassion; she reaches out for me and places her arms around my neck and breathes against my cheek before leaving a light kiss there and allowing butterflies to flutter in my stomach. My heart is beating through my rib cage and I fear it will burst but allow myself to continue holding her rather than running from it.

After what seems like ages she lets go of me and without making eye contact with me she clears her throat and says hoarsely, "I better get you home now."

I nod, not knowing what else to say, and grab my bag on my way out the door. This time when I check my phone it's more or less text-free. And that's how I feel when I'm with Rachel: free.

When we get into the car and Rachel drives away from her house, she doesn't hook up her iPod and the ride is quite silent. I keep itching to reach out and place my hand on her thigh, to tell her that I'll miss her until Monday because I'll only be able to shoot glances her way tonight.

I watch her blatantly for a few moments without trying to hide it and my fists curl into tight balls on my lap. I force myself to look away but the electricity between us is pulling me back, pulling me towards her.

Pull.

Pull.

Pull.

I bite my lip and look back towards her, noticing her fists clenched on the steering wheel. It isn't just me, then, feeling this enormous amount of tension.

Where did it come from? It wasn't there this morning, was it?

I curl and uncurl my fist, but every time I try to focus on something else it's like my hand has a mind of it's own and inches towards her thigh. I lean as closely as I can away from her towards the car door and close my eyes tightly.

"Quinn, we're here," Rachel says huskily at my side.

I feel like I was enduring that tension for hours, not minutes. When I dare to look at Rachel, her eyes are dark and wandering up and down between my eyes and me biting my lip, hard. She leans forward only an inch, only a miniscule amount but it's enough for me to notice it and reciprocate the action.

The car is too quiet, my thoughts are too loud.

_Rachel's moistened lips, her bare legs, her dark chocolate eyes_.

If I wanted to, I could reach out and feel how smooth they must be. My hand twitches from the desire to do it, to feel her. I cannot fight this heat burning on my skin, this heat that only Rachel has been able to produce. I don't want to fight it, and I don't want to fight the aching between my thighs. I want to give into it—I want to feed it.

I reach out and shakily place my hand on Rachel's leg, biting back a moan and leaning forward into Rachel's quivering breaths.

I force myself to look into Rachel's dark eyes, begging her to do what I am unable to initiate. _Doesn't she know that I want this_?

I lean forward, allowing our noses to graze and the electricity between us has become unbearable, eliciting a gasp from Rachel. I close my eyes tightly and brace myself. I can feel her warm breath, smell vanilla all around me as though it's only Rachel and myself.

All I have to do now is lean forward.

A car honks down the road at something and I jump away, startled, yanked completely out of my trance.

"I—I'll catch you later. Text me when you're ready to be picked up," Rachel stammers and brushes her hair behind her ear, looking down at her steering wheel.

"Bye, Rach," I whisper breathlessly and walk out of the car in a daze.

I fumble with my keys to find the front door key and mechanically insert it into the lock, my mind still on Rachel.

"Anybody home?" I yell at an empty house, knowing full well that my father goes away on golf trips on most Saturday's and my mother volunteers at the church for whatever activities are going on. Bake sales, food drives, clothing donations—you name it. She's really a wonderful woman.

I let out a deep breath that I feel like I've been holding for hours and run upstairs to take a shower to wash off the sleepover grime.

I strip down and carefully place Rachel's clothes atop of my laundry and search through my clothes looking for something very specific. After tossing half my clothes on the floor I finally find my pair of ripped jeans that I used to wear before becoming a Cheerio and as such, wearing only top of the line clothing. I shove all my clothes back in the drawers and bring my ripped jeans and Rachel's hoodie into the bathroom with me.

When my bathroom starts steaming I go into the shower and embrace the heat and hot water, allowing it to burn me until I get used to the temperature. I close my eyes and imagine Rachel's dark eyes full of want, and not for the first time wondering about what the hell I'm doing.

After getting changed I put on a pair of sunglasses and sit on the front porch with my head tilted back, absorbing some sunlight and necessary vitamin D. It's not long before a shadow blocks my sunshine and I open my eyes to Santana.

"Move over," she demands and practically pushes me aside to sit next to me.

It's comfortably silent, sharing some peace with my normally aggressive best friend.

"We need to talk," she blurts out.

That didn't last very long.

"You seem different. You're not the Quinn I've known for years now," Santana tells me and I brace myself.

"I mean, when was the last time I've seen you laid back in ripped jeans? Never," she scoffs.

"Santana, I'm obviously not wearing this to Jackie's party. Before you came along I was completely alone enjoying my Saturday," I counter defensively.

"But that's my point, Q. You'd never just enjoy a Saturday lounging around in comfy clothing. You're always on the move terrorizing someone or finding more ways to better your reputation," Santana leans forward and picks some rocks up off the ground and throws them into the distance, "And really, where did you get this God-awful hoodie?"

"Careful, you might hit a car," I warn her but make no move to stop her, ignoring the hoodie comment. This is Rachel's, after all, and it means something to me.

"Do you see what I mean? Before you would have smacked these rocks out of my hand and gotten into an argument with me for no reason," Santana explains.

"Okay, so I'm not feeling quite so nasty these days. Is that a problem?" I sit up straight in full HBIC mode and Santana puts her hands up in a mock surrender.

"Easy, blondie. I'm enjoying the new you, really, but you seem distracted…almost like you're in love or something. I mean shit, you don't even glare at Brittz and I anymore when we make out," she proclaims.

"Who do you think you are coming out here and judging me like this? You know as well as I do that I don't believe in love and maybe it just gets tiring being a nasty, horrible bitch 24/7! Nobody likes me, Santana, they fear and envy me. I'm dating a guy I couldn't care less about. Maybe I just get tired," I argue.

"I'm your best friend and I came out here trying to level with you. If you don't want to tell me what's going on and be defensive, that's fine, but don't bullshit me and pretend like there isn't something because we wouldn't be here a couple of weeks ago. Something changed for you and at least give me the respect enough to acknowledge that there is _something _different," Santana looks at me expectantly.

I don't know what to do. I cannot tell her that something is going on…I can't tell her about Rachel. If I acknowledge that there's _something_, Santana won't stop until she finds it because she's hardheaded like that. However, if I don't acknowledge it at all she'll know I'm lying to her and she'll be pissed at me.

I give her one swift nod to let her know that there's something going on that she's unaware of and she grins at me in satisfaction.

"You don't have to tell me what it is, but I'm so fucking glad you're being honest with me, Q," she chuckles in relief and I smile at her. "I also came here to tell you something which may piss you off. So, brace yourself," she admits with slight anxiety in her voice.

"Okay, shoot," I say warily.

"Brittany and I are coming out of the closet. And before you protest, I have to tell you that we're in love. I know you say you don't believe in love but I swear it's real and someday I know you'll find it yourself. I know you're so worried about our reputations and especially yours, associating with lesbians, but we're the hottest girls in school! Nobody would dare give us shit. And if they do, I'm tough enough to handle it. It's not fair of you to ask us to stay in anymore when we're ready to come out. Before I wasn't sure and it was easy to stay in. But now, I know that I don't want anyone else and so does B. We're so good together, Quinn. I really hope this doesn't affect our friendship and that you…well…don't kick us off the Cheerios. I know it's a lot to ask for you to be supportive but if you could just give us that—"

I hold my hand up to preemptively end her rant and take a few seconds to think properly before speaking.

"It's not fair of me to try and control your life. If you're ready to be out with Brittany then that's your call and I'm not going to stand in your way, kick you either out of my life or out of the Cheerios. You're my best friends and I do support you. That being said, I may be a little awkward around you both in public for a while. But I do know that you both lov—_care_ a lot about each other. I see that and I was foolish for ever rejecting the thought," I say carefully.

Santana throws her arms around me and catches me off guard, considering we haven't hugged in, well, never.

"Whatever is doing this to you, give it a kiss for me," Santana proclaims happily.

"San, are those tears? Holy shit, are you crying?" I try to pull down her sunglasses and when she swats my hand away I start laughing uncontrollably.

"Alright, enough, ice queen. I'm just happy I get to keep my bitch of a friend, okay?" she says angrily and wipes at her eyes.

I lean back on my hands and tilt my head back in the sun again, this time with a grin on my face. Santana gets up from beside me and wipes nonexistent dirt from the ground off her ass.

"You want me to pick you up tonight?" she asks normally as though this conversation never happened.

I hesitate and butterflies fly around my stomach, thinking about Rachel picking me up later.

"Uh, no, that's cool. Finn is picking me up later," I shrug.

"_Good God_, Quinn, dump the assclown already," she groans at me and walks down the path out to her car.

I _am_ getting rather sick of Finn, perhaps a break up is on the horizon. If San and Britt can come out of the closet together and maintain their popularity, why can't I dump Finn? The idea, despite rationalizing it, still gives me anxiety. I just need more time. After grabbing my iPod quick from inside and lying back down outside, I fall asleep for a good few hours.

When I awaken, I go inside and notice that I'm lightly burned in the mirror on my cheeks and nose. I didn't think that in the fall you could get burned. Thankfully it's not a lobster burn and looks almost healthy giving color to my milky skin.

After looking through my closet for a good 15 minutes I find the dress I want to wear for the party and lay it out along my bed. I press my fingers along the fabric, allowing myself to visualize me in it, and place various heels at the bottom of the bed to choose from. Tonight, instead of heels I have chosen flats to go along with a light yellow sundress and a white cardigan.

I think of Rachel and immediately butterflies take flight in my stomach. I have to tell her when to pick me up, so I grab the phone I've been neglecting lately and slide it open to find a text from both Rachel and Finn.

I pick 'bad news' first and slide Finn's text open:

**Finn: **Do you want to come back to my place after Jackie's tonight?

God, Finn, give it a rest.

'Good news' second:

**Rachel: **What do you call a lesbian who lives up north?

I snort and reply immediately.

**Quinn: **I don't know, what?

Rachel replies after a few moments.

**Rachel: **A Klondyke.

I laugh out loud at her silly joke and respond.

**Quinn: **Good one.

**Rachel: **You know you laughed.

**Quinn: **Of course I did. When do you want to pick me up?

**Rachel: **I was thinking in an hour, if that's alright with you?

**Quinn: **Perfect, I just have to shower.

**Rachel: **Pictures?

**Quinn: **That'll happen when you're _never_.

**Rachel: **Clever, Quinn. I was just kidding anyway!

**Quinn: **I'll see you in an hour, goof.

I take a long, hot shower and multitask by blow-drying my hair and fixing my nails at the same time, which is really quite difficult. Just as I'm putting the finishing touches on my make up, my phone rings and it's Rachel.

"Not to sound like a creep but I'm outside of your window," she tells me in a low voice.

"Oh, no, that doesn't sound creepy at all," I counter sarcastically, beaming in spite of myself.

"You have a cute phone voice," she says matter-of-factly and I blush.

"I think I sound like a child on the phone," I admit.

"Yeah, but a cute kid I guess," she quips.

"Rachel!" I yell and she laughs before adding, "I'm just kidding! Jeez. Are you coming or what?"

"I'll be right down," I hang up and quickly smooth down my dress, trying to look as perfect as possible.

I skip down the stairs and open the front door to Rachel who is dressed essentially the opposite of me. I can't help but looking at her up and down and my jaw drops, I may even be drooling a bit.

She's wearing skin tight black jeans, motorcycle boots, a skin tight white tank and a black leather jacket, all with her hair flowing down past her shoulders and light silver eye shadow.

"Is it too much?" Rachel asks me nervously, biting on her lip.

"No—it's, well, _wow_. Rachel, you look pretty damn hot," I confess truthfully without the slightest trace of embarrassment. She beams at me and stands up more confidently, pulling a yellow rose out from behind her back.

"I thought I would try a different look tonight…and you can't show up to a beautigul girl's house empty handed," she grins while holding out the flower to me.

I look at the flower and take it from her, holding it delicately in my grasp. Finn has never brought me flowers.

"Thank you," I whisper affectionately.

"It's just a flower," Rachel says in embarrassment, looking down at the ground.

"It's my favorite kind," I tell her, still in awe over something so simple.

I step out onto the porch and lock the door behind me, following Rachel to her future black Mustang—not that she knows her father will be giving it to her for her birthday. When we get in the car she has a familiar playlist on low and I ask her offhandedly, "So what do you want for your birthday?"

She snorts and responds, "What, you want to get me something?"

"Maybe," I wink at her when she looks over at me incredulously.

"Quinn, you don't have to do that," she sounds more like her typical nervous self.

"It's not a big deal, Rach. I was just wondering if there's anything you wanted in particular?" I ask.

"I want to do something fun with a friend and without my parents. I haven't done that since Jackie," Rachel admits.

I frown at the mention of Jackie and then grin mischievously when the perfect idea hits me.

"I know what I'm getting you," I tease.

"What! Tell me!" she exclaims.

"Sorry, no can do. It's a surprise," I grin.

Rachel pouts and doesn't talk to me for the rest of the drive, trying to guilt hints out of me. Sucks for her that I'm way too cold for that pouting stuff and it doesn't work on me. Or, well, at least I'm trying not to let it.

I'm hit with a pang of jealousy when I realize how effortlessly Rachel drives to Jackie's house without any confusion or directions. She must have done this over a hundred times and knows the route like the back of her hand. _Damn it, Jackie_. I clench my fists in my lap and vow to destroy her if she even looks at Rachel the wrong way tonight.

We find parking down the street and walk together down towards her house which has loud screaming and music reverberating off of it. Rachel and I walk closely together, arms constantly bumping at our sides and fingers occasionally brushing against one another. I'm dying to reach out and intertwine our fingers, which would be normal if we were alone at her house. But here, where anyone could see us, it's a risk I'm not willing to take.

Once we get close enough to the house I give her hand a light squeeze and regretfully part ways with her to walk through the gate on Jackie's fence and enter through the back of the house, away from Rachel.

Going through the back, I weave myself in between bodies trying to maneuver towards the door. I hear an occasional slurred, "Hey Quinn!" from a random body, none of which are of my concern. My eyes are peeled for Rachel and my excuse is so I can keep an eye on her based on the terrible incident that occurred the last time Rachel came to one of these parties.

But really, I just want to see her and be near her.

A drunken female falls in front of me, presumably one of my Cheerios, and I look down on her with disgust. What a disgrace and an embarrassment for my team. She looks up at me and I recognize Melissa, the bitch who was tormenting Rachel on the bleachers a few weeks ago.

I completely ignore the hand she's extended to me in the hopes of helping her to her feet and walk through the house, towards Brittany and Santana who are laughing cheerfully and enjoying their drinks in the kitchen.

"Hello ladies," I purr and Brittany throws her arms around me, catching me off guard.

"Quinn! I missed you! Why are you always late?" Brit pouts at me.

"It's called being 'fashionably late'. _The party doesn't start until I walk in_ and all that," I say with a careless wave of my hand.

"I didn't peg you for quoting Ke$ha with all that alternative rock crap you listen to," Santana grins and hands me a drink she just poured.

"Just because I have _good_ taste in music doesn't mean I don't know some bad songs," I sip at my drink and it's more vodka than cranberry.

"Santana, I'm drinking straight vodka right now," I cough from the burning and she laughs.

"Don't be such a wimp. When was the last time you let loose?" Santana grinds behind me and Brittany moves in front of me, making me the middle of a drunken lesbian sandwich.

"Alright, girls, I'm definitely not drunk enough for this," I sneak out from between the both of them and they return to grinding against one another without a care in the world.

I pick myself up and sit on the kitchen counter, sipping at my drink and feeling a light buzz form in my head.

Rachel enters the kitchen looking for a drink and I wink at her while drinking. When I feel ice bump against my lips I jump down to find a refill when Rachel walks into me on purpose, sliding her hand against my lower back.

"Watch where you're going, _loser_," I grin at her mischievously and revel in her touch.

"My apologies, Ms. Fabray," she purrs and I choke on the last sip of my drink from wanting to laugh.

I find the vodka in the hall precariously placed on the edge of the stairs and refill my glass. Unfortunately, my boyfriend appears behind me and drunkenly lifts me over his shoulder carrying me upstairs.

"Finn, _Finn! _Let me go!" I yell, struggling against his grip.

"Not until we talk," he burps and smells like beer.

He tosses open the first door he comes across and sets me down on the bed, beginning to pace in front of me.

"Look, Quinn, I know I can be a jerk sometimes but don't you get how much I love you?" he asks aggressively, looking at me fiercely with glossy eyes and red cheeks.

"Finn, you're drunk and I don't think now is a good time—"

He interrupts me, "No, let me finish."

I lean back and roll my eyes. _Here we go_. I drink my refilled glass of vodka in a few gulps to prepare for this.

"I love you and you won't sleep with me and that's not okay. You're not allowed to be mean to me and ignore me or my calls anymore," he trips on the carpet and holds himself up on someone's dresser.

I feel myself getting very lightheaded and tipsy. _I need a refill_, I think to myself while frowning at my empty glass.

"So just say you love me too and everything will be okay and we can kiss," he falls in front of me and makes his lips pucker.

My mind flashes to Rachel's lips and how close I was to kissing her earlier.

"I just, can't do it Finn," I stand up and falter, finding my footing before exiting the room and grabbing the vodka on the stairs, drinking it straight from the bottle.

There's a rush of teenage bodies around me, laughing and screaming, clinging to each other just to feel. And then there's me desperately wanting to get away from these clowns and be alone, breathe some fresh air.

_Where's Rachel? I miss her, I need her_.

"Who's Rachel?" some random dude asks me and I completely ignore him, stumbling forward throughout the crowd.

I suppose I asked that out loud.

_Where is she? Where's air? I need air._

I stagger through the front door, out to a much less crowded front porch reserved for the smokers. Rachel is sitting on the ledge drinking a bottle of beer and laughing with Puckerman who has his arms around some girl.

"_Rachel_," I breathe softly and lurch forward to wrap my arms around her.

She looks at me with a panicked expression and holds me back, jumping off the ledge and whispering something to Puck before dragging me through the grass off to an empty side of the house.

"What's with you and P—Puck—Puckerman anyway?" I stammer and look at her with an accusatory expression.

She puts her hands on my hips to steady me and I close my eyes at the contact, loving her warmth and security.

"Rachel, I really like you," I tell her while feeling the side of her face.

"Quinn, you're really kind of drunk," she says cautiously and pulls away from me before adding, "Maybe I should take you home."

"No, wait. Kiss me," I pull her into me and she refuses to come, which angers me.

"_What_? I'm not going to kiss you, Quinn," she tells me adamantly and not without agitation.

"What? Am I not good enough for you but _Jackie_ was?" I spit at her and stumble backwards.

"What does Jackie have to do with this? Quinn, honey, you're _drunk_. I don't take advantage of drunk girls," she crosses her arms and watches me.

"Fine, then I'll find someone who will," I yell and make my way back towards the house before she grabs my arm to stop me.

"Quinn, you should really let me take you—"

"Get off me!" I pull my arm free and run into the house, not without tripping on the stairs on the front porch.

I force myself back to my feet and search through the crowd for my girls, hoping that they're not off having sex somewhere.

They're in the middle of a crowd of kids dancing and singing their hearts out to _Tongue Tied _by Grouplove. San spots me and yanks me towards them, laughing when I bump into the both of them.

I join them in singing at the top of our lungs, and dancing around trying to forget all my problems.

_One, two, three, four.  
Don't leave me tongue tied,  
let's stay up all night.  
I'll get real high_

_slumber party; pillow fight.  
My eyes and your eyes,  
like Peter Pan up in the sky.  
My best friend's house tonight  
let's bump the beats till beddy-bye._

_Don't take me tongue tied,_  
_don't wave no goodbye._

_Don't take me tongue tied,  
don't kiss me goodnight._

_Take me to your best friend's house,_  
_going around this roundabout,_  
_oh yeah._  
_Take me to your best friend's house,_  
_I loved you then and I love you now._

_Don't leave me tongue tied,_  
_don't wave no goodbye,_  
_don't leave me tongue tied;_

_Don't!_

When the song ends, Brit pulls us off to the side and pours tequila into shot glasses for the three of us, handing one to me last.

"Cheers to us!" Brittany yells and Santana kisses her sloppily on the cheek.

"The best bitches around who never gave a _fuck_!" I shout and Santana laughs loudly at me.

"On three. One, two, three!" Santana exclaims and we do our shot equally, I hardly even feel mine, realizing that my lips are numb.

"I think I need to lie down," I confess to them and kiss them both wetly on their cheeks, Santana moving dangerously close to my lips.

"Still not drunk enough for a threesome, San!" I yell over my shoulder and push my way through the crowd and back up the stairs towards the room that Finn had dragged me into earlier.

When I open the door I officially think I'm hallucinating and that I've been drugged. On the other hand, I'm hit with a surprising amount of pain that suggests it has to be real.

Jackie is completely topless, half naked, straddling Rachel on the bed.

Rachel sits up immediately and tries pushing Jackie off of her.

"Quinn, wait, this isn't what you think—" she tries to explain frantically and I hold my hand up to silence her.

"Save it," I feel a knife in my chest and I swipe at the tears that have welled up in my eyes.

Jackie is looking at me angrily for interrupting them and snaps, "You could have knocked."

Seething, I growl, "You are _so_ off the Cheerios," before exiting the room and closing the door behind me.

* * *

**A/N: The song is 'Tongue Tied' by Grouplove.**


	8. HBIC

**A/N: Thank you all so much for all the alerts, favorites, and reviews! I love you all!**

**Warning: ANGST AHEAD  
**

**HBIC: Head Bitch in Control**

**Chapter Eight: HBIC**

Fuming, I storm down the stairs, shoving the people at the bottom out of my way in order for me to get out of this house as quickly as possible.

"Hey! Watch it!" The guy yells after me for shoving him and his girlfriend.

"No, shut up!_ You don't know who that is_," she hisses at her boyfriend.

I turn around, walk up to his terrified girlfriend and growl, "No, _you _watch it," threatening them before exiting the front door and slamming it behind me, vowing to hurt that girl in some way come Monday.

How could she do this to me? How could she reject _me_ in order to hook up with her slutty ex-girlfriend? She made me think that she was completely over her, she made me _pity _her. My eyes tear up and I kick the railing attached to the front porch and stub my toe, crying out in pain. This is all Rachel's fault, really. Stupid fucking Rachel Berry. Wincing, I turn my head back and forth to see who is out here. Thankfully, the front of the house appears to be empty and clear of smokers—aside from the one guy passed out on the bench.

The door opens behind me and I don't bother turning around, sensing who it is. I leap down the porch steps, silently thanking God for landing on my feet, and walk along the grass at a fast pace.

"Quinn! Quinn, please wait," Rachel anxiously shouts behind me and runs up to me, grabbing me by the arm and I violently yank it away from her.

"Why on earth should I wait for you? You're a complete waste of my time, I don't know why I even bothered being your friend," I spit at her angrily.

"Quinn, please calm down. You're drunk, honey, just let me drive you home," Rachel pleads and I laugh irritably.

"I am _not _your honey, don't you dare call me that. I'll be damned if I get into that car with _you_," I hiss, seething, and start walking when she grabs me again. This time when we make eye contact, she looks frantic.

"Quinn, I don't have any feelings left for Jackie—would you please just let me drive you home and I'll explain?" she begs and grabs my hand, desperately trying to make me see sense. I feel warm because she's here, because she wants me and she's holding my hand.

So I yank it out of her grasp and scoff, "Really? You don't have _any _feelings left for Jackie? Pretty hard to tell considering she was _naked_ and _on top of you_!"

"Quinn, it wasn't my—"

"Oh, what, it wasn't _your fault_? Save it, Berry. I should have let those girls rip you apart that day on the bleachers," I hiss, knowing that I'm being extremely cruel.

"I don't know what's worse, actually. Thinking that I wanted to kiss you, or spending all this time befriending a pathetic dyke like you," I say angrily, poking her in the chest and watching tears brim on her eyes.

The tears make my heart clench but I cannot allow myself to break or back down.

"I understand that you're hurt, Quinn—"

"Hurt? You think I'm hurt? Please, I only just now realized how much better off I am without you!" I shout at her and she flinches, stepping back.

"What's going on out here?" Santana asks, narrowing her eyes at us as she walks down the porch steps.

"Mind your own fucking business Santana," I hiss and she looks at me with wide eyes, before looking at Rachel who is silently crying and wiping at her tears.

"What did you do, Quinn?" San asks me.

"What did I—what the fuck do you mean what did _I _do! It's what _she_ did!" I yell furiously at the both of them.

"Okay, well Rachel is obviously upset so I think the wrath can stop now," Santana says cautiously, taking a few steps towards me.

"Get away from me, dyke. All of you fucking lesbians screwing with my mind," I snap at her and continue with laughter, "This has nothing to do with Rachel dropping my books or being the biggest loser in school."

Rachel sits on the grass with her head in her hands and the sight causes me so much pain I have to fight every bone in my body from kneeling before her and apologizing. I cannot do that because she has gotten under my skin and made me weak, made me hurt. Instead, I frown at her menacingly.

"Oh, so this has to do with her sexual preferences?" Santana snaps at me, hands on her hips.

"Something like that," I mumble in response.

"Newsflash, Quinn, your best friend is a lesbian and that's not changing any time soon," Santana shouts angrily in my face.

"Well then maybe it's time I made a new best friend, someone who isn't such a _freak_," I snap at her and Rachel whimpers.

"Is that so?" Santana asks painfully, claws officially out. The alcohol is driving the both of us, coursing through our veins.

Rachel sobs and immediately my eyes shoot to her, insanely worried about her well-being and torn between wanting to give in and needing to fight it. It's the difference between allowing myself to feel pain and feeding my anger to feel better; it's always better to be angry than hurt.

Santana, unfortunately, follows the path of my eyes and looks at me with a puzzled expression before laughing hysterically, retracting the claws.

"Oh, that's brilliant. That's just fucking hilarious, Q," Santana says, doubling over with laughter.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" I ask heatedly.

"You and Berry. You're not mad at her for books or her _popularity status_, you're mad because you _care_ about her!" Santana shouts and laughs harder.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say coolly.

"If you would just let me explain," Rachel whispers on the ground and Santana looks at her with a shocked expression before laughing even harder.

"I don't care what you have to say, Rachel. Whatever was there between us is gone now," I choke out, ignoring Santana.

"Let's hear it, Rachel. What did you do to hurt my—or should I say _our _Quinn here so deeply?" Santana asks, wiping her tears and stopping her laughter.

"I don't want to hear it, I'm done," I say and walk towards the sidewalk in an effort to walk home. Rachel sobs and runs to her car in the opposite direction from me. "Good riddance," I mumble and ignore the pain in my chest.

"I knew you were hiding something!" Santana exclaims and runs up next to me to walk with me.

"Not right fucking now, Santana," I hiss and try to walk faster, away from her.

"Can't escape me that easily, _homophobe_," Santana grins and quickens her pace, walking evenly next to me.

"Whatever," I respond before adding, "How did you even know I was outside to interrupt us?"

"Brittany and I were dancing on the table in the living room and saw you storm out the front door," she says matter-of-factly.

"Fine. You figured out my big, life-altering secret. Bravo, Santana. Now, leave me alone," I tell her and continue walking.

"So what, you're going to walk home _drunk_ and alone?" Santana asks and scoffs at me, grabbing me by the arm.

I shove her off of me and say, "I'll find my way."

* * *

And by the grace of God, I did find my way home. I stumbled through various bushes and backyards and ended up at my house, using the spare key to get in and in bed before my father could awaken and beat me for being a drunken whore, I'm sure. After church, I spent all of Sunday crying my heart out in bed. Rachel texted me a total of 19 times before I turned my phone off completely.

On Monday, however, I wake up angry.

When I get to school on Monday, I completely ignore Santana and Brittany and walk down the hall with a renewed sense of importance. I may have been slacking lately, but I am the queen here and it's time I felt like it again. If Rachel so much as looks at me today, I'm ready for her. _I can do this_.

I spot Finn down the hall waiting anxiously at my locker and I think it's time for me to give into him _completely_. He's dedicated a lot of himself to this relationship and it's about time I returned the favor. I walk up to him and grab his neck, kissing him fiercely on the lips before whispering my favorite lie, "I love you."

He pulls me up off the ground and kisses me deeply; when he lets me go, I tell him that I'm ready. I'm ready to go all the way, to have sex, to commit myself to this life forever. I'm done with screwing around and risking my reputation on somebody who means less than nothing to me.

_But, that isn't true, is it? You just don't want to care about her. The truth is that you care so much it hurts—_

"Finn, are you free this Friday?" I ask him, eyes wandering around the hall.

"Well yeah, I guess. Why?" he wonders, rubbing my back lightly with his fingertips, trailing in circles that make my skin itch. _I don't have this reaction when Rachel touches me_.

"Because I'm ready," I whisper, staring off into the distance at nothing. His fingertips pause their circular motion and he grins.

"Ready for what _exactly_? Because I want us to be on the same page…" he inquires curiously and excitedly with bright eyes.

I sigh, his blatant idiocy making this harder for me than it really has to be. I violently shove him against the locker and clarify myself, "Sex, Finn. I'm talking about sex."

The back of my mind keeps nagging me with the thought that I don't have anything to prove, except that _I do_. I have to do this with Finn to solidify our relationship and commit myself to him and no other ridiculous lifestyle. At least for the rest of high school he will be wrapped around my finger and whipped; only sex will do that.

"Yes! I've been waiting for this!" Finn exclaims and fist pumps, causing me to shake my head in embarrassment and place my hand on my forehead. He suddenly stops his cheering and asks, "But wait, I thought you were mad at me?"

"I just…wanted to be _sure_," I lie, thinking about how easily I was willing to throw away everything for some girl. Even now, my subconscious seems to be fighting with me, insisting that Rachel is one of the most amazing girls I've ever met.

Finn beams at me and takes my hand to lead me to English; nervous butterflies are attacking my stomach at the prospect of seeing Rachel. When we get to the door, everyone is already at their seats inside and Finn and I hover in the doorway. Feeling Rachel's eyes on me, I pull Finn towards me by the back of his neck for a searing kiss in which I feel nothing.

"This weekend will be so _awesome_," Finn whispers, grinning at me. I give him a weak smile back and walk into the room, making eye contact with Rachel and the sight causes my breath to hitch. She looks like she's in _so much pain_. I ignore her and walk to my table, far away from her and sit there alone with no one daring to sit next to me. It hurts knowing that Rachel would have dared and I would have loved it. But that was last week before—before Jackie.

All throughout class I completely ignore her, feeling her eyes dart back to me on multiple occasions. Each time feels like a knife in my heart and I want to look up at her and smile, wink—anything that will suggest that her and I are alright. But I refuse with every bone in my body.

When the bell rings I stand up quickly, strategically walking deliberately into Rachel so that she drops all of her books on the ground, including the last Harry Potter book. I kick it so that it slides out into the hallway to be trampled on by the student body and look down at Rachel in disgust, who is quickly wiping away at tears and ignoring me to grab her books. When the last body leaves the room aside from the two of us she grabs my hand and makes eye contact with me with a pleading expression.

"Please, Quinn. _Stop_. Let me explain," she begs, grasping my hand for any kind of recognition of our previous friendship. I jerk away from her touch, feeling it in my bones, and whisper, "Save it, _hobbit_," and walk out of the room with my hands on my hips, leaving her behind.

Santana and Brittany are waiting anxiously for me and my eyes shift down towards their intertwined fingers. Their love for one another is…unnatural.

"_Disgusting_," I hiss and push past them, looking for my next classroom. Santana quickly grips my shoulder and whips me around, shoving me into a locker violently.

"_What_ is your problem?" she whispers aggressively, searching my eyes for some kind of answer that I'm not going to give.

"Get your dirty hands off of me," I growl and shove her backwards and away from me.

"Please, guys, don't fight!" Brittany exclaims and intervenes, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder which I jerk away from and she whimpers.

Seething, Santana shouts, "Don't you hurt her!"

"I didn't even touch her, she was touching _me_," I say defensively, bracing myself for some kind of typical Santana violence.

"What has happened to you?" San asks me carefully, grabbing Brittany by the hand and pulling her away from me.

"Nothing, I'm the same Quinn I've always been. In fact, I'm better than ever," I say grinning and raise my hands, gesturing to the hallway around me as though it's my kingdom.

"My _best friend_ would _never_ treat me this way," Santana growls at me and I shake off the pain in my gut.

"Like I said this weekend, perhaps it's time to find a new best friend," I shrug and motion to walk down the hallway; the bell rings and reverberates throughout the halls. Santana grabs me and shoves me once more against the locker. Brittany leaves us to our battle and goes to class.

"Is this about _Berry_?" she asks in disbelief, eyes gazing into my own and I look away guiltily before she adds, "Because that girl has never done a damn thing wrong to you and if anything, seems like one of the nicest girls in school. Despite her occasionally God awful fashion sense and loser qualities, she's _kind_, Quinn. What could she have done to push you like this?"

"Nothing! Why does this have to be about Berry? Why does every God damn thing in my life lately have to be about Rachel fucking Berry?" I shout to a recently empty hallway, aside from Santana and myself.

"Because I saw you on Saturday, Q. You were content, you were—you were _peaceful_. I've never seen you like that in the history of our friendship. Even at the party you were _happy_ and enjoying yourself! Then, I walk outside and Berry is begging you to let her explain something to you and you shifted completely into HBIC mode! Do you—do you have _feelings_ for her?" Santana wonders, taking a step forward with caring but defensive eyes.

For a moment—for one moment I'm ready to break down crying in this hallway and tell Santana that I don't know what I feel, or that I didn't know what I felt before Jackie happened because now all I feel is pain. But I don't break down; I keep my walls high and stay completely silent.

"_There_, Quinn, what was that? What just flashed across your face? _Talk to me_," Santana begs, pleads with me to tell her what's really going on. As though it's honestly okay to be—okay to have feelings for another girl. This acceptance that I've been feeling, it's all because of Santana.

"Everything that I said to you on Saturday was wrong. I have no business being friends with homosexuals, no business defending them and encouraging their happiness. Rachel will get what she deserves in time, but you? You're getting yours _right now_," I hiss and add, "As captain of the Cheerios I'm commanding you to stay in the closet with Brittany. Frankly, I think you both would be better off ending your pathetic relationship all together and finding some good boyfriends. Why stay together? Under the false pretense of _love_?—Well, regardless, I can't make you break up. But I can do my damndest to squash it out of you, and I know you want Brittany to stay on the Cheerios to get a college scholarship. You either stay in the closet or you're off the Cheerios," I finish with my arms crossed, feeling rage and _power_ pounding in my head and flowing through my veins.

Santana mouths at me wordlessly, unable to find words to respond and takes a few steps backwards from me; from the monster I am becoming. Maybe I'm just finally living up to my potential.

I turn around and strut down the hallway with my hands on my hips and my head held high towards the classroom I'll be entering into late.

I take my phone out and text a few girls regarding the plan I procured late last night.

**Me:** Get ready.

I hesitate outside the door and take a deep breath before entering the auditorium at lunch with a handful of my Cheerios in tow; Melissa following proudly at my right. Rachel stands on stage, frozen at the spot in fear. I remain standing at the entrance while my girls surround Rachel on stage. When it's completely silent I shout, "The moratorium on Rachel Berry has been rescinded. It's hunting season, girls. And what do we hunt?"

My voice reverberates throughout the room and for the first time I can hear the coldness in my voice. They eerily respond in unison, "_Freaks_."

"Quinn! Please, please be rational about this!" Rachel shouts in panic but is cut off by Melissa shoving her to the ground.

"Don't talk to her. I never understood why she called the moratorium on you in the first place, little freak," Melissa hisses, grabbing Rachel's bag and tossing it's contents all around the room before laughing at a terrified Rachel and one by one leaving the stage.

My lips quiver and I crack my neck. _Stop it, stop caring_. But I can't—I cannot stop and the tears brim, falling down my cheeks. I wipe them away and leave the auditorium, taking short, deep breaths over and over until I'm kneeling on the floor, hyperventilating.

_I went too far_.

No, it's good if she hates me—even better if she fears me. I manage to calm myself down and although I am not hungry, I walk to lunch purposefully. I see Santana and Brittany sitting at my usual table looking distraught; its half empty considering most of the Cheerios right now are…detained.

I spot Finn easily sitting at the football table and I squeeze in to sit next to him, which he happily allows.

"Where have you been?" he wonders, sloppily kissing me on the cheek and I wipe the residue away gracefully.

"I had some Cheerios stuff to take care of," I shrug with a small smile and he offers me some of his fries, which I decline. My stomach is in knots and I feel disgusted—but only with myself.

When my last class lets out and it's time for glee, Santana and Brittany are nowhere in sight, clearly refusing to walk me to class. I shrug it off and find Finn who is quite eager to walk with me, happy I found him.

"I feel like I've seen you more today than I have in weeks," he admits, tossing an arm over my shoulder as we enter the room for glee.

The air in the room is hostile—mostly from people who hate Finn, but partially from Rachel, Santana and Brittany. I wasn't sure Brittany could be hostile; really, she always just seemed so innocent. In fact, the expression she's wearing could easily be misconstrued as confusion or constipation. Her expression isn't the one I'm worried about, however. I timidly look up, afraid of what I'll see when I see Rachel.

When I brave the look, she seems otherwise unharmed, which makes me extremely relieved. The expression that she is wearing though—it matches mine completely: pure fury. Her eyes are narrowed and she's glaring at me angrily, wholly unlike her usual happiness or even her late sadness. She looks furious with me and I have to wonder what the girls did to her in the auditorium that was so awful, considering she looks untouched. Even Puck at her side is frowning at me coldly.

I let my eyes pass over them indifferently and sit next Finn, placing his hand in my lap and holding it loosely. The tension in the room is palpable and no one is speaking to one another; Santana and Brittany are sitting closer to Rachel than they are to me.

_Traitors_.

When Mr. Schue walks in he's startled by our intense silence and has to clear his throat a few times before speaking, "Uh—hello everyone. Is something wrong?" he asks to no one in particular and not one person gives him a response so he adds, "Okay, well—it's guy's week, and um, you know the drill."

He waves his hand for us to split off into teams and I stay next to Finn, who seems to be contemplating something thoughtfully before saying loudly, "I want Quinn and the Rachel girl to be on my team."

There's an uproar from angry gleeks yelling back and forth between Mr. Schue and Finn, declaring how that isn't fair and that Finn shouldn't even be allowed back in the glee club. Rachel herself remains in a furious, silent state in the back, scaring me more than our friendship ever did.

"Hey! Guys, enough! Whatever happened to sportsman like conduct, huh? You're a _team_ and Finn is a member of it. Get on board! And as for Rachel and Quinn, I think it's up to them to decide whether or not they want to assist him, don't you?" Mr. Schue yells to the room more confidently then I've ever seen him, perhaps even angry.

"I will team up with Finn," I mumble lightly to the room and no one is surprised. Not even Santana interjects with some anti-Finn comment and I'm starting to miss her clever quips.

I gulp and my face feels as though it's been set on fire, waiting for Rachel to make a decision while Puck whispers furiously in her ear. In the end, she holds up a hand to motion him to shut up and says, "I'll do it on the condition that it's not some kind of love song and _especially _not 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light'."

"Well isn't that just _lovely_?" Santana asks mischievously, grinning at me.

"_Shut up, Santana_," I hiss back at her and take a deep breath.

"Bitch," she says loudly, not bothering to whisper and I turn bright red.

"There, that's settled. Off you go," Mr. Schue declares, ignoring our little exchange and sits at the piano, supervising the room vigilantly as though waiting for a bomb to go off.

When Rachel walks down to us she stands far away from me with her arms crossed, waiting for instructions from Finn.

"Come on, let's go brainstorm in the hallway," Finn says brightly and Rachel groans, following out into the empty hall.

"So, uh, I don't know the first thing about dancing and uh—music, but that's what I have you two for. I'm going to go grab my iPod from my locker really quick to find a good song to sing. Stay here, ladies," he winks at Rachel and for an instant I want to tear his face off.

"Stay away from me," I warn her when Finn is far enough down the hall not to hear us.

"No, _you_ stay away from _me_," she corrects me and paces back and forth while I sit on the ground, leaning against a locker.

"Why did you even say yes?" I ask her angrily, seeing this as a ploy to be close to me.

"Because it's my musical duty to help those in need," she retorts and rolls her eyes.

"Pathetic," I whisper and she looks at me angrily.

Seething, she replies, "Don't you talk to me about pathetic, Quinn Fabray. You're the one who's pathetic. Sicking your lackeys on me—cute trick."

I feel like I've been punched in the gut but respond, "I thought so too. How's your favorite book doing?"

Hurt flashes across Rachel's face before she quickly replaces it with anger. She continues pacing back and forth across the hall and eventually looks at me and says matter-of-factly, "Heard you're giving it up to Finn."

My face whitens and I choke out, "That's none of you're business."

"Of course it isn't," she says before adding, "_Whore_."

I leap to my feet and storm up to her growling, "_What_ did you just call me?"

"You heard me, I know you did. Little miss chastity club giving it up to the quarterback so he can give her attention and a good reputation. Giving it up to a guy she _doesn't even love_," Rachel quips painfully.

"How do you even know?" I ask curiously, in spite of all my anger.

"He wasn't exactly _quiet_ about it. Talking about finally 'tapping your fine ass' all afternoon in our history class, the worst part is that I almost defended you. I almost defended this cold hard bitch standing in front of me _right now_," she retorts angrily and my fists clench, fighting the urge not to hit her and she notices.

"Go ahead, Quinn. Give me your best shot," she tells me confidently and walks up to me, standing only an inch away. My breath hitches as my eyes involuntarily look at her lips while I lick my own. _Why do I still feel this way_? Her eyes go dark and she focuses on my lips.

I step away and turn my back to her, crossing my arms over my chest and taking a few deep breaths, practically gasping for air. _I feel like I'm suffocating_.

"Quinn?" Rachel asks hoarsely, sounding less furious than before. _No, please, stay mad at me. I can't afford to break down_.

"Quinn," she repeats, sounding mere inches away from me and I whisper, "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't care?" she laughs sardonically and adds, "I wish I didn't, Quinn, because you don't deserve it."

Another knife stabbing me deep inside my heart, I almost double over from the pain and bite my lip to keep from crying.

"You don't deserve the way I feel for you because you don't even care enough about me to hear me out," she says and her voice cracks, letting out some of her pain.

"There's nothing you can say—" I begin to tell her when she turns me around and pushes me close against the locker, breathing hard against my face and smelling _so much_ like her.

"If you're going to hate me, shove me out of your life, brutally attack me and have your so-called _friends_ harass me, you at least should know the truth," Rachel tells me passionately and I close my eyes to force her out, praying to find the strength to push her away but it doesn't come. Instead, I feel the strength in her hands on my arms keeping me locked in place. I feel her warm, smell her distinct vanilla scent, feel her breath on my cheek and when I open my eyes all I see is just how much Rachel cares. _I don't deserve it_.

"After what happened between you and me outside of Jackie's, I went upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. I've obviously been inside the house before and knew where I was going. I needed a second, okay? I needed a second to breathe and to think. You probably only initiated what you did because you were drunk and looking to experiment. But I'm not an experiment, Quinn—"

I cut her off with, "I never said you were—"

She holds a finger up to my lips and continues, "I'm not an experiment and perhaps you underestimate the way that I feel for you, the way that I care. I've seen the other side of you, Quinn. The side that isn't drunk on rage and power, convinced she always needs to be the _head bitch in control_ or whatever. I have seen the warm, loving you that I _adore_. When you asked me to kiss you, I couldn't take advantage of you like that. Then, you felt so rejected I didn't know what to do and I just wanted a minute alone to think some things through. I wasn't going to drive all the way home and leave you behind without a ride! I needed to make sure you were okay but I also just needed _one freakin' second_ to myself."

"You weren't exactly _alone_," I say sarcastically and Rachel groans in anger, stepping away from me.

"No shit, Quinn! I went in there alone and lied down on the bed, resting my eyes for a minute and Jackie snuck in, locking the door behind her. She said she saw me sneak away from the party and wanted a minute to talk to me. She started apologizing for everything she put me through and that she's missed me ever since she left—which, understandably caught me off guard for like one second, Quinn. That's all it took, you know; one little fucking second of vulnerability for Jackie to climb on top of me and rip her shirt off. I was about to push her off and tell her that I had zero interest in getting back together with her, no less being her sex toy…when you stumbled into the room," Rachel chokes out the rest of the story and finishes, watching me intently.

My eyes widen and I'm horrified, filled with shock, regret and most of all _guilt_.

"I tried to explain it to you; I must have called you a hundred times. But you never gave me a chance," Rachel says numbly.

_What have I done?_ Tears fall from my eyes and I raise my hand to my cover my mouth in horror, Rachel looking at me coldly before I can't take it anymore and I run down the hall to find the exit. Rachel doesn't follow me and rightfully so, I wouldn't expect her to after what I've done.

I run through the empty halls determined to run all the way home, mind replaying over and over the story of Rachel justifying what happened with Jackie. Replaying how awfully I treated Santana. Finally, thinking about how I could have ever told Finn I'd sleep with him and wondering how I ever thought that would make anything better.

I know that Finn must be returning to the glee club with his iPod at any moment now, prepared to work with Rachel and myself. When he finds me gone, he'll be confused and yet Rachel will willingly help him alone because that's the kind of girl she is.

And I don't deserve a girl like that in my life. _Rachel Berry is too good for me_, I think, and laugh at the irony.

I don't think I can stand being with Finn anymore, knowing I'm using him for the wrong means. I can't stand myself anymore, either. I can't be this HBIC I've sought out to be because I feel more than I can stand, but I can't be anyone else.

I storm out the school exit, deliberately skipping the rest of school and Cheerios practice, knowing that Santana was born to lead and that she can pick up the slack. I run for as long as I can until I can't run anymore, and then I walk the rest of the way home trying to stop my tears from flowing.

When I finally reach my house I enter and run straight upstairs to my room, completely ignoring my mother's calls, wondering if I'm okay. I violently yank my uniform off and throw it across my room, pulling my hair down and sinking to the floor—sobbing. I pushed my best friends away, _I pushed Rachel away_.

My mother knocks gently on the door and like a true angst-ridden teenager I shout, "Go away!"

Thankfully, that's never worked on my mom and she enters the room, looking at me gently. She kneels down on the floor beside me and opens her arms for a hug that I graciously accept, with only a moment's hesitation.

"Everything is going to be alright, Quinnie," she whispers against my hair. She holds me and rocks me back and forth, humming a familiar song under her breath.

My tears slow and I manage to compose myself enough for my mother to stand up and find me a t-shirt and some sweatpants in my drawer. She holds them out to me and then sits on my bed, waiting patiently for an explanation that I don't know how to give her.

I take my time putting the clothes on and even leave to wash my face in the bathroom with cold water. I come back into the room with puffy make-up-free eyes and sit down next to my mother, who grabs my hand for support.

"I just," I begin, noting how rough my throat feels and how hoarse my voice is before continuing, "I just feel like I had everything all figured out. Like I had me all figured out or at least who I wanted to be. I had this idea of right and wrong and it was like—it was like I knew what I was doing was wrong half the time but that it was always _right _too. I never crossed the line before—before today."

My mother soothingly caresses the back of my hand, carefully forming her words, "You know, Quinn, I wasn't much different than you were when I was younger. I was a cheerleader myself and all young girls strive for popularity. While I always knew who I was, I was also never strong enough on my own to stand up to others. I was a follower, never resisting the flow of the crowd. That's how I ended up married to your father—I didn't put up a fight and it seemed like the logical thing to do in order to be taken care of. But you, Quinn, you're a _leader_. You're the best parts of me and even the best parts of your father, although those are few and far between. You're strong and you put up a fight, able to always stand up for yourself. You have the power to decide what's right and wrong, sometimes even deciding upon the morally grey area. But you know what? I trust you to know what the difference is. I think that you have the strength inside of you to make it right."

"But mom, what if it's too late?" I choke out nervously biting my lip.

"You're a Fabray, Quinn. You have your father's stubbornness; I'm sure you'll get what you want in the end," she says and smiles at me warmly.

"What if I don't want his stubbornness?" I ask, annoyed at having any relation to him at all.

"There you go again, being stubborn," my mom chuckles and I huff in resignation, when we're interrupted by the doorbell and I'm suddenly overcome with anxiety.

"I'll get it, honey," she says gently and I lay back on my bed, hoping that it's a package or a Jehovah's Witness; anyone but someone I know.

Unfortunately when my mother yells upstairs, "Sweetheart? Brittany is here to see you," I know the universe is officially against me. At least it's not Santana or Rachel…

I glide down the stairs, maintaining a distance from Brittany that she, under normal circumstances, would not stand for.

"Can we talk?" she asks me nervously.

"Uh, sure Brit. Let's talk outside," I say and she nods, stepping aside for me to walk past her onto the front porch.

We sit awkwardly on the top step together with as much distance in between us as possible, both leaning against opposite posts.

"What can I do for you, Brittany?" I ask her curiously and she remains quiet, staring out at the sun.

We sit in silence together without speaking for a long while, making me more and more anxious about why she's come. Further, her phone keeps buzzing and I _know _it's Santana. What if she never told her where she was going? Or worse, what if Santana shows up here looking for her?

"Uh, Brit, does Santana know you're here?" I ask her cautiously.

Brittany shakes her head back and forth, ignoring the phone and remains silent.

_Great, just great. _Santana is going to lose her fucking mind.

"Brittany, you know how she gets. Maybe you should answer her," I suggest, hoping that she'll listen. Instead, she shakes her head again and allows it to continually vibrate.

"You're skipping practice, you know," I say, trying to prod her to speak.

"Do you remember when you were mad at Santana when you found out about us making love?" Brittany wonders, completely ignoring my statement and making eye contact with me, seeming more _there_ than I feel as though I've ever seen her.

"Of course I do," I admit truthfully. How could I not? It was the biggest, and perhaps the only real fight we ever had. Sure, we argue like sisters and exchange a constant level of playful banter, but we never really _fight_. Well, at least not until today.

"Remember how you called her a sinner and told her how we were both going to hell?" Brittany continues and I wince.

FLASHBACK

"_How could you? Do you know how disgusting this is? How could you keep this from me? All the nights I've slept over and wondered in the middle of the night where you and Brittany had gone, were you fucking her right behind my back? I'm worried for you, Santana; you're a sinner and going to go to hell if you don't stop!" I yell at Santana, blind with rage._

"_Why don't you let me worry about my eternal soul and you stop acting like a jealous girlfriend!" Santana shouts, blind with rage._

"_I—I'm not jealous, I couldn't care less who you sleep with Santana, as long as it's not a girl," I retort._

"_You know what I think? I think you're jealous. Maybe not of Brittany or me, but because of the passion and love her and I share—something you have never experienced," Santana tells me._

"_What do I need passion for? Or love? Those things just make you act like a fool. This is why you're not head cheerleader, Santana! You're too busy fucking around with frivolous things, like love," I counter miserably._

"_Do you think I care about being 'head cheerleader'? I don't care about being your second because it gives me a chance to do both: fall in love and cheer. If I was head of this school I'd be watched so closely that I'd never get away with it. Make no mistake though, Quinn, I was a born leader. I'm not your second because you're better than me. You're head cheerleader and queen of this school because I allow it," Santana snaps at me and I recoil from the obvious truth._

END FLASHBACK

"I remember it as though it were yesterday, Brit," I admit in defeat, wondering where she's going with this.

"I think that Santana was right," she says matter-of-factly, playing with the edge of her uniform skirt.

"Santana was right, how?" I wonder, watching Brittany pull at a loose thread.

"I think that the reason you were so upset back then wasn't because our love was a sin, it was because the way we feel about each other is so strong that you couldn't understand it. You've never felt it before, Q," Brittany tells me with a pitying voice.

"Don't pity me, Brittany. I don't need love," I say unconvincingly, looking down at the steps.

"I think that that's the problem, Quinn. You do need love, and you've spent so much fighting all of it's warm fluffiness," Brittany says and continues, "I think you found someone that you actually feel some fluffiness with and it scares you because you never thought it mattered."

I whip my head towards Brittany and note how observant she is, even though she seems to be off in her own little world filled with rainbows and unicorns more than half the time.

"Be that as it may, I can't go back," I admit tearfully, fighting the burning in my eyes.

"Why not? Things may never be exactly as they were, but sometimes, they can end up being _even better_," Brittany says, scooting over to me and leaning on my shoulder.

"Are you really against Santana and me being together, out and happy? Or is this about you?" she asks against my neck and I lean my head against hers.

It's not about Santana and Brittany or any homosexuals. This is all about me living with my head up my ass for the past few years, being unable to accept values that my religion doesn't necessarily teach.

"Brit, do you know why Santana and I stopped fighting that day?" I ask her, knowing she doesn't know the answer.

I never even told Santana, really. I just woke up the next day, asked her if their relationship would be remaining a secret and when she said yes, we put it behind us and that was that.

Brittany shakes her head and looks up at me curiously, waiting for me to tell her.

"We stopped fighting because I knew deep down that even though I was scared about my own popularity, I knew that God loves you no matter what," I say and Brittany beams.

"I'm sorry, Brit. I made your relationship about me because I've been a self-centered jackass for as long as I can remember. All I've ever wanted is to be liked, to be wanted, and when I found out about you and Santana I somehow related that to myself and was scared that I'd lose everything," I admit and add, "But true strength is being able to decide for yourself what's right and wrong, not just go along with the crowd. I see that now, I do."

Brittany tosses her arms around me for an extremely constricting hug and I laugh, struggling for release.

"Easy, Brittany, I can't breathe," I choke out, laughing, and patting her on the back.

"Sorry," she blurts out, still grinning completely without remorse.

"I don't know how to fix what I've done," I admit, wincing, entirely ashamed of myself.

"I don't think there's anything you can't do, Quinn. Santana loves you and you've gotta get your girl!" Brittany exclaims and I look at her with wide eyes.

"Look, I—I do care about Rachel. But I'm just not ready to think about _how much_, okay? Baby steps, because I just can't handle all of this. Right now I just need her to forgive me and work on our friendship," I say carefully and Brittany nods in understanding.

"Who would have thought that you would be the one giving me sage advice?" I ask, chuckling at Brittany.

Brittany shrugs and replies, "I don't know who else you'd be expecting it from."

We embrace one another lightly, without any kind of suffocation involved and when she pulls away to leave I get very anxious.

"I'm scared," I whisper and Brittany pats me on the back.

"I know, but I think Santana will be easier to deal with than you think," she says and winks, walking down the sidewalk away from my house.

She opens her phone and calls who is undoubtedly Santana to tell her that she's safe.

I take a deep breath and exhale, knowing that I've got a lot to make up for. However, thanks to my mother and Brittany, for the first time in a long time I have_ hope_.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and stare at Rachel's name for a long time, before getting to my feet, grabbing some shoes and going to find her.

"I'll be back later, mom!" I shout down the hall and she leaves the kitchen to come see me, surprised that I'm leaving and especially in sweats.

"Where are you going?" she asks me curiously, wiping someone on her apron.

"To make things right," I tell her honestly and know that I'm going to try my damndest to do just that.


	9. Coming to Blows

**A/N: I thought after all the cold you could use some warming up.**

**Quinn did NOT sleep with Finn.**

**Thank you for all of the reviews, follows and favorites. You rock!**

**Chapter 9: Coming to Blows**

The walk to Santana's house is an anxiety-ridden one, as I'm not entirely sure she won't kill me where I stand. Or worse, won't forgive me. I know what I did to both Santana and Rachel was beyond fucked up, but I can't focus on that aspect anymore or I'll just sit around hating myself all day. I have to move forward and focus on what's next: making things right.

Santana seems like a good place to start because if I can't get my best friend to forgive me, what hope do I have with Rachel?

These are the thoughts that are plaguing my mind as I walk to her house in my sweatpants and a t-shirt. Before, I'd never be caught dead in this stuff outside. At least I had the sense to grab my mirrored aviators to hide my eyes. Unfortunately, I don't have time right now to care about fashion.

When I approach Santana's house I'm convinced my heart may beat itself right out of my chest or that I'll die from a heart attack. The gate to their long driveway is thankfully open, when it hardly ever is. I think that's a good sign that God is interested in what I have to say, and may even be routing for me this time.

I walk the long path up the driveway and ring the doorbell to her large mansion. I hear it reverberating off the walls inside the house, and the intercom on the side of the door projects Santana's voice asking, "Who is it?"

"San, it's me," I say nervously, waiting for a response. When I don't get a response and no one opens the door, I can only assume she ignores me. I back up onto the grass and shout up to Santana's window, "Santana, please come down!"

Suddenly, the house workers from inside yell out through the intercom, "Get off the grass!" and then repeats the message in what I assume is Spanish.

"What is this, _Th__e Princess Diaries_? Get your ass down here, Santana!" I shout at her while she stands in the window, glaring down at me angrily.

Santana opens the window violently and yells down to me, "Only if you want me to kick your ass!—" she pauses her threats and looks at me curiously before asking, "Are you out of the house in _sweats_?"

"I'm kind of on a mission here? There wasn't any time to change," I say, looking at her intently in the window.

She closes the window and backs away from it. I hope that she's coming downstairs to speak to me, yell at me even, because how can I get her to forgive me if she won't even talk to me?

Fortunately, the front door opens and Santana storms out of it, leaving Brittany hovering in the doorway. She gives me a hopeful wink but says nothing, only observing our interaction.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing here, Quinn? You're really pushing it. Do you want to get seriously injured because I _will _go all kinds of Lima Heights on your ass!" she shouts in my face, shoving me backwards and if looks could kill…well, yeah.

Instead of fighting, I simply nod and say, "Santana, I understand your anger and I don't blame you for wanting to hit me. I didn't come here to fight with you and I'll take whatever you throw at me without retaliation. I came here to—to apologize."

She looks at me with wide eyes and a shocked expression, rather than the intent to kill. She turns around to see Brittany, looking for some kind of validation that this is real. Brittany gives her a swift nod of the head, encouraging her to listen, and I silently thank God for Brittany.

"Speak; you're interrupting our _girlfriend_ time. You know, lesbian scissoring and all that," she snaps at me and I fight the urge to grin rather than frown in disgust.

"Lesbian scissoring; clever, Santana," I say in a low voice and Santana doesn't seem amused in the slightest.

"Okay, here it goes. I was a bitch. No—wait, I wasn't just a bitch. I was a God awful piece of shit person. I know that, I know that what I did and said was inexcusable. I'm not trying to excuse my behavior, I just want the opportunity to explain…if you'll let me," I say with a question implied, and I wait for Santana to reply.

"Look, I'm outside aren't I? So let's have it," Santana tells me and it's the most encouraging statement I'm going to get from her, so I continue.

"I—_God_, this is hard—I think I may have some kind of…_feelings_ for Rachel. I don't know what they are so don't ask me, I just know that I care about her more than I thought possible and I like her friendship. Anyway, um, her and I had been hanging out secretly and I found out that Jackie is actually Rachel's ex," I confess carefully and Santana interjects, for a moment breaking her angry exterior, "Wait, like, _Cheerios _Jackie?"

"I like how that's the part you notice in all of that. Yeah, before Jackie was a Cheerio, her and Rachel had a thing, or whatever. I found this out and I guess, well," I choke, finding it difficult to continue and scratch awkwardly at the back of my head.

"You got jealous, didn't you, Q?" Santana asks sardonically, wearing a huge grin.

"Yeah, okay? I think that's what jealousy feels like. In any case, Rachel declared that she was over Jackie and that was that. Until at the party I walked in on them—together, upstairs in the guest room and Jackie was half-naked," I explain, frowning.

"So that's why you stormed out of the house," Santana says mechanically, putting her hands in her pockets.

"Yeah, and honestly I started freaking out because I wondered what it meant that I cared so much and at the possibility of actually—actually liking a girl, no less _Rachel Berry_, and I sort of lost it trying to blame all the lesbians in my life for perhaps making _me_ a lesbian. I know that that's crazy but it helped at the moment," I enlighten her before continuing, "Look, Santana, I want you and Brittany to be out and proud. I'll even go as far as to wear an 'I support my gay best friends' t-shirt or whatever. I want you to be happy, that's all I want. I don't care about what anyone else things and I'll help you, I promise. You're my best friend and I—"

_Wham_. Santana punches me right across the face and I stumble backwards, clutching my cheek. Brittany is frowning in the doorway, clearly unhappy about the violence but not moving.

"Okay, I guess I deserved that," I admit, wincing at the pain in my cheek and moving my jaw back and forth.

"You're damn right you did. You think that just because you were having an—_an existential lesbian life crisis_ you can go around stomping all over everyone in your path? Get real, Quinn. I knew you were crushing on Berry ever since the day she dropped your books. Disappearing randomly, exchanging coy smiles and _defending _her? Even going so far as to preventing any Cheerios from bullying her? You didn't exactly make it the best secret," Santana shouts and adds in a calmer voice, "I know what it's like to freak out about your sexual orientation and more than anything else I never want to know what it's like to walk in on someone you care about with someone else."

We both stand there awkwardly, shifting on our feet and I keep my fist pressed against my cheek, knowing there has to be at least a red mark. Is that her accepting my apology?

"_Let me see that_," Santana huffs, walking towards me and rolls her eyes. She smacks my hand away from my face and carefully examines my cheek. "It's not bad. Only you could make a blow to the face look sexy," Santana quips and eyes me thoughtfully. "Look, I'm not saying I forgive you, but, well—what are you going to do about Rachel?" she finally asks, pulling me by the hand to sit me down on the porch next to her.

Brittany runs inside without saying anything and when I look curiously at Santana, she shrugs.

"I—I really don't know. It's like I lost my mind from _feeling_ for her. And it's not like she knows me like you do, San," I admit uncomfortably, anxious for how Rachel will respond but grateful that Santana has tentatively forgiven me.

"Yeah, that sucks. She doesn't know that you're just a crazy bitch who flies off the handle occasionally and that this wasn't completely abnormal," Santana states matter-of-factly before cracking a smile and playfully shoving me with her shoulder.

I lean my head against her and allow myself to revel in having my best friend back, knowing I will never hurt her like that again.

"So when I came to see you on Saturday and you were all hippie-peaceful, that was because of Berry?" San asks cautiously, worried she'll set me off or something.

I nod and mumble, "I slept over her house on Saturday night," and Santana jumps and looks at me excitedly. "No! No, nothing like that," I hurry to explain, knowing her mind is going somewhere dirty.

"Well, have you kissed?" she asks and my cheeks turn red, I shake my head back and forth reluctantly. "Do you—do you _want _to kiss her?" she asks curiously, waiting for a response.

"I—I'm not sure. Maybe? I know I tried to at the party, drunk mind sober heart and all that. I keep staring at her lips when she speaks. Even today when she was yelling at me I couldn't help it," I confess embarrassingly and Santana laughs on cue.

"God, Quinn, you've got it _bad_. Looks like it's finally time to dump Finnocence," she says triumphantly and Brittany finally comes back out of the house, holding an ice pack.

She gently places it against my cheek and kisses me lightly on the head, moving to sit next to Santana. I hold the ice pack up and enjoy the coolness against my bruise, wincing only slightly.

"So what helped you come to these miraculous conclusions?" Santana asks, placing a hand on Brittany's knee.

"Actually, um, Brittany did," I admit and Santana looks bewildered.

"I went to Quinn's house after school today; that's where I was when I was skipping Cheerio's practice," Brittany explains, placing her hand atop Santana's.

"You could have told me, you know," Santana murmurs to Brittany, who shakes her head.

"No, I couldn't have. I didn't want you to try and come with me or worse, stop me," Brittany replies, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

"Anyway, Brit said some things that really inspired me to get off my ass and try to fix the things I've screwed up. She's wiser than I thought; she may even be brilliant," I say, and Brittany beams at me.

"I could have told you that," San says, lovingly gazing into her eyes.

"Better her and my mom, I knew that I couldn't even wait until tomorrow. I had to start tonight," I finish and Santana nods thoughtfully.

"You're lucky you have such an understanding best friend," Santana says with a smirk.

"You're damn right I am," I agree and after a moment's hesitation, I toss my arms around her tightly to which Santana responds wholeheartedly.

"Okay, okay. Enough sisterly love, we need to work on how you're going to get your girl," Santana says, patting me on the back after pulling away.

"I don't—I don't know if I want her, _per say_. I just know I want her forgiveness and friendship back," I admit truthfully and Santana nods, looking out along her front yard.

"Is she worth it?" Santana wonders aloud and I nod immediately.

"I've never met anyone _more_ worth it," I declare confidently, know how true that statement is.

"Well then, it's going to take something special," Santana says, standing up and cracking her knuckles.

"You're—not going to hit me again, are you?" I ask her nervously, looking at her bruised hand from hitting me so hard.

"No, Q, don't be an idiot. You deserved one punch and I'll let you know later if you need another one. Plus, my fist hurts," she grins and stretches out her fingers.

"So, what do I do?" I ask the both of them, without a clue.

"Quinn, as much as we want to help, neither of us knows a damn thing about Rachel Berry. All we know is what we see, that she likes to read and especially seems to love her Harry Potter books," Santana says, rolling her eyes and mouthing something along the line of _nerd_.

I feel a pang of guilt when I remember what I did to her precious Harry Potter book, knowing now that it must be all torn up and dirty.

"I have to get her a new book," I say with conviction, standing up and already walking down the driveway.

"Wait, what? Quinn—don't you think whatever you're doing will be faster _with a car_?" Santana asks, pulling her car keys out of her pocket and waving them around tauntingly.

"You're brilliant," I sigh and kiss her fiercely on the cheek, which she quickly rubs off with her hand.

"This girl is making you too soft, Q," she says with disgust and a blush on her cheeks; Brittany giggles.

"I'm going to stay here and work on some dance moves. You guys go ahead and scheme up something fun! Maybe show up with a unicorn, Q, because everyone loves those," Brittany says matter-of-factly and kisses Santana goodbye tenderly on the lips.

"Brit, I don't think—" Santana cuts me off with a look of fury, shaking her head back and forth. "Uh, I'll do my best," I tell her with a nod and she beams, skipping back into Santana's house and shutting the door behind her.

Santana leads me into her garage and we get into her Camaro, Santana explaining, "You cannot ever tell her that unicorns aren't real. _Someone _made that mistake once and spent weeks fixing it."

"Duly noted," I say and nod, buckling my seatbelt and leaving my icepack on the floor.

"I still can't believe you left the house in that outfit," Santana chuckles, backing out of the driveway.

"Yeah, well, some things are more important than appearances," I admit ironically and Santana snorts.

"Took you long enough," she says lowly, shaking her head back and forth before asking, "So, where to?"

"The nearest bookstore," I respond and Santana nods, speeding off down the road.

* * *

"I need a Harry Potter book. _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ to be exact," I explain to the monotonous looking book store clerk, who raises an eyebrow at me and points to the large Harry Potter display not two feet from me.

I blush and mumble, "Thanks," grabbing the one on top and carefully inspecting it to make sure there aren't any marks or bent pages.

I buy that and a pen, quickly scribbling down a message to Rachel on the first page.

I run out to the car, book and pen in hand and sit down next to Santana, who is clearly fighting the urge to laugh.

"Shut up, okay? And don't ask," I tell her, putting my seatbelt back on.

Santana grabs the book and looks inside before I can stop her and sees my note:

_To Rachel with love, Quinn_.

She laughs so hard that tears fall from her eyes and I cross my arms, blushing furiously and looking out the window.

"_With love_," Santana repeats and continues laughing until it finally dies down and she starts the car again.

"Are you finished?" I ask her sternly, crossing my arms in a huff.

"You are never going to live that down," she says, putting the car into drive but keeping a foot on the brake and asks, "Where to now?"

"Rachel's. We have to go to Rachel's," I admit gravely, severely anxious to deal with her or worse—her fathers.

"Oh God, oh God, her fathers are going to _kill_ me," I stress, biting my nails.

"You've met her parents?" Santana asks me incredulously.

"That's generally what happens when you hang out at someone's house, Santana," I say sarcastically in between bites.

Santana leans over and whacks my hand away from my mouth, snapping, "Would you stop that? You quit that habit a long time ago."

"_I wasn't on death's door a long time ago_," I retort, continuing to bite my nails.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. Seriously, what a drama queen. You made your bed—or—you have to make your bed and lie in it…with Rachel," Santana grins at me.

Blushing, I reply, "You know that didn't make any sense, don't you?"

"Yeah, well, I'm here as the comic relief and support. But seriously, you screwed things up bad and you keep insisting that Rachel's worth it. Now's your chance to man up and prove it," Santana says, continuing to drive in the direction I point.

"Oh God, this is her _street_," I whisper in a panicked voice, pointing to Rachel's house before yelling, "No! Don't park out front. I don't—she shouldn't think you're with me."

"Jesus Quinn, take a damn chill pill. I'll park right here, okay?" Santana says, placating me before mumbling something incoherently under her breath in Spanish.

She puts the car in park, turns off the engine and then says, "Go get 'em, tiger."

"You're not—you're not coming with me?" I ask her nervously, hand remaining on the door handle.

"Quinn, for the love of God, stop being such a pussy and _go!_" Santana shouts at me in aggravation.

"Fine, fine! Sheesh, how long am I going to have to take this?" I reply, leaving the car and shaking my head as I go.

"At least a week!" Santana yells from the car window and I chuckle.

Every step to the front door feels heavy, completely out of my comfort zone and I look back to Santana, having half a mind to run back to the car. She shoos me forward with her hand and rolls her eyes at me. I bite my lip and continue walking forward until I'm on Rachel's front porch, awkwardly clutching a new Harry Potter book and trying to force myself to ring the bell. After standing there for 5 minutes without moving, Santana runs up behind me and rings the doorbell, only to run away and hide behind a bush.

"_Get out of here!_" I hiss at her, wondering if she's still hidden.

The door opens and an alarmed Rachel is standing in front of me with puffy looking eyes, as though she's been crying.

"This is my house, you know," she says mockingly.

"Yeah, I—I wasn't talking to you," I respond, looking like an idiot.

"Then who were you talking to? A squirrel?" she asks sarcastically, not really seeming to care one way or the other.

"Um, something like that," I mumble and she crosses her arms defensively.

"Rachel, I came here to—I needed to—here," I stutter, holding out the new _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ book. Rachel's eyes widen and her hands twitch forward, almost accepting the book until they fall to her sides and she eyes me contemptuously.

"I don't want anything from you. Now leave, before I tell one of my fathers what you've done," Rachel says angrily and slams the door in my face.

I jerk backwards from the door in my face and huff, glad at least that her fathers don't have any clue how horrible I was to their daughter or else they'd shoot me for being on their property. I toss my hands up in defeat and Santana crawls out from behind a bush looking hardly amused.

She stands up and wipes the dirt off her knees saying, "It looks like you're going to have to do better than that. I mean, what was that, Quinn? What about all that apology stuff you said to me earlier? Talk about _choking_, holding out the book for her and not even being able to form a simple sentence; _caveman_."

"Hey, she caught me off guard, okay? Take it easy," I explain, wondering what to do next.

"You're going to have to try harder," Santana says with her hands on her hips before adding, "We didn't come out here for nothing."

"Yeah, okay, fine. Just go hide or something," I tell her and bend down to grab a few rocks, walking around to the other side of her house and gently throwing them into her window.

"_Very Romeo & Juliet, I like it_," Santana whispers from somewhere behind me and I fight the urge to throw a rock in her general direction.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I continue throwing them until she opens her window furiously, yelling down to be in a harsh voice, "Are you _trying _to break my window?"

"I—no? I'm just trying to get your attention," I admit, letting the rest of the rocks fall to the ground.

"Stop being such a pussy, Quinn, and _speak!_" Santana whispers loudly behind me and I'm positive Rachel hears it.

I put my forehead in my hand and know what's coming next. Rachel asks, "Did you—is there someone here with you?"

I nod without looking up and feel Santana crawl out from behind a bush behind me. She cleans the dirt off her knees again and says in a friendly but ashamed voice, "Hi, Rachel."

"You brought _Santana_?" she asks incredulously and I look up pleadingly.

"I didn't bring her! She just, well, she drove! And I needed the support," I admit with my hands in up in surrender.

"She really did though, you should have seen her," Santana explains.

"So what, does she know about us now? Because I thought our friendship was a secret," Rachel quips.

"Well—"

"She told me when she was apologizing to me for being the world's biggest bitch. There are definitely worse chicks than you, Berry," Santana says and I quickly cover her mouth with my hand hissing, "_Will you shut up_?"

When I let go she continues with, "I'm just saying."

"Please, Rachel, can we talk?" I plead with her, looking up at her through the open window, still carrying the Harry Potter book.

"Honestly, Quinn? I'm tired. I'm tired of crying and tired of you," Rachel admits sadly and adds, "What are you even doing here? A couple hours ago you wanted nothing to do with me. And really, you can't buy back our friendship with a _book_."

"Listen, I didn't buy this for you because I'm trying to buy back your friendship or anything of the sort. A couple hours ago I wasn't aware of what I know now and honestly you wouldn't even believe the mental changes I've made between then and now, despite the short amount of time," I tell her honestly.

Santana pipes in with, "It's true. She's flipped a 180," and Rachel rolls her eyes.

"I bought this book for you because I ruined yours in a moment of weakness. That's all, Rachel, it's just a replacement to add to the million apologies I want to give you," I confess, stepping forward until I'm directly below her to see her better.

"Oh, here we go. I don't need to hear this again so I'm going to go wait in the car. Any chance you've got something to drink, Rachel? It's been kind of a dramatic evening and I'm thirsty," Santana asks shamelessly.

"Santana, _really_?" I ask her angrily and Rachel looks at her with shock.

"Uh, there are water bottles in the garage and the door is open. Feel free?" Rachel replies in confusion.

"Thanks, girl," she says to Rachel and adds to me, "Good luck," before walking back to the front of the house, leaving us alone.

"You two are awfully chummy considering she looked like she was going to tear you a new one in glee club today," Rachel says thoughtfully.

"I went to see her first to apologize for my behavior today. I've kind of had this epiphany and, well, that's totally beside the point," I ramble, trying to explain.

"Quinn, just speak," Rachel encourages me to continue, sounding a lot like herself.

"It's a little bit difficult when you're so far away. Will you please come down here?" I plead, adding, "I promise not to bite."

Rachel closes her window and my heart speeds up, knowing she's coming down for me and that's the best I can hope for. When she opens the back door she walks over to me and stands a couple feet away from me, maintaining a distance. She's eyeing me skeptically and waiting for me to proceed.

"Here's the thing. I am, or I was a huge bitch. I was awful to you and I know that, but it comes from this place of fear deep down. Fear about how much I was starting to care about you, fear about the jealousy and pain I felt that had to do with Jackie. I acted out in fear and I know that's no excuse. I cried_ all damn day_ on Sunday, I'm not even sure why! I just felt so hurt and betrayed somehow, but most of all I felt _vulnerable_. In my vulnerability I went back to the behavior that I know and am comfortable with. But make no mistake, Rachel, I care so deeply for you," I finish passionately taking a step forward, gazing into her confused eyes.

"If you care so much for me why would you do this to me? Why wouldn't you just let me explain myself and then none of this would have happened?" Rachel asks angrily, taking a step backwards and increasing the distance between us.

"Because I was being a stubborn idiot and I really, genuinely thought that if I gave you the chance to explain yourself that you would have only lied to me; or worse, _rejected _me for Jackie," I explain, begging her to understand. "The only version I've ever known of love is that of my parents, which involves screaming, pain and abuse. I never knew that love could be something real and not invented by the imagination. Santana and Brittany tried to teach me otherwise; they tried to show me the love that they shared and explain that it was real, that it wasn't just a made up figment of their imaginations. But you know what, Rachel?" I ask and she shakes her head.

"I didn't believe in love until I met you and your fathers, seeing how they treat each other. The way I care for you is something I never understood before, and how could I with the family I have? Your friendship and compassion has changed me inside and out, Rachel. When I felt hurt by you I went back to old behaviors but I swear to you that that me is gone now," I walk forward pleading with her, tentatively taking her hands in mine and she looks at me with watery eyes.

"I just don't know how to trust you anymore," she admits, dropping my hands and breaking my heart.

"All I want to hear is that I didn't break it forever and that I can have the chance to prove myself to you," I beg, getting down on my knees in front of her and not bothering to fight the tears that have formed in my own eyes.

She gazes longingly at me for a moment before whispering, "We'll see," and leaving me to walk back inside the house, closing the door behind her.

I grin and leap into the air in triumph, knowing that _we'll see_ is a possibility. Rachel deserves to be chased and I'm going to accept that challenge.

I walk out and into Santana's car, grinning foolishly with red cheeks.

"Well? What happened?" she asks eagerly, still drinking from her recently acquired water bottle.

"She's giving me a chance to prove myself," I grin at her and she punches me lightly on the arm before starting the engine.

"So you and Rachel Berry, huh?" she asks after stepping on the gas pedal.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," I mumble and look out the window, suddenly feeling exhausted.

* * *

"Wake up, Q, you're home," Santana whispers, gently poking me on the arm and waking me out of a deep sleep.

"When did I fall asleep? I'm sorry," I say quickly.

"Like 10 minutes ago when we left Rachel's. I figured that you've had a long day going from bitch to awesome so I let you sleep until we got here," Santana explains, leaving the car in park and looking at me intently before asking, "Are you going to be okay?"

"I have you, don't I?" I counter and she smiles before nodding.

"Just don't change again, okay? I can't do all the crazy," Santana says and I nod, reaffirming that I'll never be going back.

"What are you going to do about Rachel?" Santana asks, putting the car back into drive and waiting for me to get out.

I look down at the Harry Potter book in my lap and say with a grin, "I think I've got a few ideas. Rachel's not an ordinary girl, she needs to be _wooed_."

"Oh God, Quinn Fabray using 'woo' in a sentence. I need to get the hell out of here," Santana says sardonically and I wave to her before she drives away.

When I enter my house, no one is home, and I can only assume they're doing something for the church. My parents never go out on dates anymore; I can barely remember the last time they did. The first thing I do when I get inside after searching around for my parents is take out my phone to call Puck.

"What?" he growls into the phone, obviously still mad at me for upsetting Rachel.

"Look, I don't have all night to explain. I need your help," I admit, waiting for him to decline.

"With what?" he asks curiously.

"I want to fix the shit I did to Rachel, okay? I feel awful for it and I honestly do care about her," I tell him hastily, hoping he won't put up a fight.

"I'm supposed to believe that Quinn Fabray, the girl who had all her little cheerleading minions bully Rachel not 8 hours ago, wants to fix everything?" he scoffs at me incredulously.

"I know it sounds ridiculous but it's true, I swear it. I even went by there tonight with Santana trying to apologize," I confess, hoping he believes me.

"Wait, really? Santana even knows?" he asks, anger dissipating.

"Yeah, really," I say, tapping my foot impatiently on the floor.

"What do you need, I guess?" he asks, surrendering to help.

"_Awesome_. For starters, I need Rachel's locker combination," I tell him and before he puts up a fight I add, "I want to put a gift in there, a good gift. If I'm lying you can tell the whole school that you and I had sex, or something else outrageously offensive."

"For your sake, I hope you're not lying, baby. It's simple enough: 07-07-07," he replies, fumbling around with something loudly on his end of the line.

"What are you doing?" I ask curiously.

"Playing Xbox," he explains, continuing to shoot something.

"Interesting. Anyway, I'm gonna need you for one more thing," I tell him, hoping to get this right…

* * *

The next day I get to school early and break into Rachel's locker, leaving the Harry Potter book in there along with a note. I hide behind the corner and watch as people begin to file in; knowing Rachel never gets here late unless she has a really good reason.

I texted her when I woke up saying, "Good morning, Rach," and she didn't answer. I didn't expect her to really, I just wanted her to know I was thinking of her.

"Uh, what are we looking at?" Santana asks loudly from behind me.

"_Shh_! I'm—_sort of_ stalking Rachel's locker," I admit and shrug, turning back to watch it.

"Ooo! Did you fit a unicorn in it?" Brittany asks excitedly and I explain to her that there wasn't enough time to find one.

"So, why are we stalking Rachel's locker?" Santana asks again, looking over my shoulder.

"_We_ aren't doing anything. Go to class and I'll see you later, I don't want to bore you," I explain and wave my hand for her to leave.

"No way, blondie. I'm sticking around for this," Santana declares, standing her ground and I roll my eyes.

"Fine, just don't let her see us," I say and watch until Brittany yells, "Look! There she is!" and points down the hall, Santana and I both turning around and hiding better behind the corner. Santana is currently covering Brittany's mouth with her hand and I look slyly from behind the wall as Rachel puts in her locker combination, humming along with whatever song is playing on her iPod.

When she opens her locker she hesitates, seeing the book and looking around for whoever put it in there. She has to know that it was me considering I tried giving it to her yesterday, so that means she's looking around for _me_. She opens the book and pulls out a small piece of paper that I wrote a message to her on and reads it fervently, blushing so deeply that I can see it from my hiding spot and there's a hint of a smile across her lips. _Score._

Rachel hesitates before closing her locker, deciding to grab the Harry Potter book out of it and take it with her to class. I finally step out from my hiding place and she grins shyly at me but walks right past me, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking down at the floor—away from my eyes.

"God, this is hard," I huff and stare after her until I can't see her form anymore in the hall of people. Santana and Brittany join me, looking out at nothing, and Brittany says, "She wants you, bad."

Santana and I both whip our heads towards Brittany incredulously, and I ask pathetically, "You—you think so? How do you know?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Santana asks sarcastically, rolling her eyes with the air of having a million other possible things she could be doing right now.

"Okay, clearly I'm oblivious then and need some help," I retort, encouraging one of them to explain.

"Come on, Q, how blind are you? We were awkwardly stalking the same girl, you know. Did you see that look on her face when she saw the book? She wasn't angry, she wasn't even confused. She knew you left it there for her and she blushed, touching it like it was absolutely fucking precious and smiled," Santana explains with any annoyed demeanor.

"Yeah, so? She's always happy to have a new book," I tell her, wistfully looking at Rachel's closed locker.

"No, you idiot, she was smiling because of you and whatever gay message you left in there," Santana says and hits me lightly across the back of my head before taking Brittany by the hand and dragging her to class.

_Ouch, _ugh.

I walk to class alone, dodging Finn when I see him walking down the hallway, probably looking for me. After all the drama yesterday and my apparent epiphany, I realize now how little I care about him and it gives me a pang of Finn. Despite being a giant oaf, he never really treated me poorly and seems to genuinely care about me. He deserves to be happy with someone who actually likes him. I know I have to let it go and try and make it on my own, but not right now. Right now all I seem to care about is Rachel, and making her _less_ angry with me.

* * *

All throughout English I stare shamelessly at the back of her head, catching her eye and smirking at her more than once throughout the period. Each time she blushes and looks away, but not angrily—it's more out of adorable embarrassment. At the end of class when I look down at my notebook I haven't taken a single note, I've only drawn 'Rachel' repeatedly in different places, sometimes just the letter 'R'. I close the book heatedly, knowing it contains my biggest secret.

_I can never, ever let Santana see this_. She'll never let me live it down. Doodling her name now with pretty little hearts? Man, I've got it bad.

When walking to my next class I see a group of my Cheerios picking on…_Rachel_.

I leap in between them and her, shoving Melissa in particular backwards and successfully defending her. I feel her cowering behind me, feeling safe at my presence. _Well, that's something_.

"What the hell, Quinn? We were just having a little fun," Melissa yells, looking at me contemptuously.

Seething, I hiss, "Rule number one: don't _ever_ speak to me like that."

Each girl equally takes a fearful step backwards, some even looking to escape this little feud. Before they can flee, I make it a point to gently pull Rachel out from behind me and look at her anxiously, making sure she's alright. After she flushes and gives me a quick nod, I fix at least one mistake that I made yesterday.

"Rachel is absolutely off limits. Do you hear me? Banned. And I'm never going back on that so don't sit there silently waiting for her to pick on. Go pick on some other freak, because—because Rachel's a good person and it was wrong of me to make her a target," I admit to them, but not without an air of superiority. The girls look at me with a curious, shocked expression and then nod in affirmation.

"Spread the word and get out of here," I demand, eyeing Melissa in particular and they disperse.

When it's safe to breathe again I look at Rachel at my side and she gazes into my eyes whispering, "Thank you," before grabbing her stuff and running away.

Totally worth it.

* * *

I successfully dodge Finn all morning, blatantly ignoring his text messages and knowing I owe him an explanation that I'm just not ready to give yet. When the lunch bell finally rings I run to the auditorium in record time, avoiding the stares of the student body. I barge open the door and eagerly bellow, "Rachel?"

My yell reverberates along the walls and I can hear the enthusiasm in my voice to see Rachel; it makes me blush. Unfortunately, I'm met with a completely empty room. The disappointment I feel is overwhelming and as a result I move to sit on the stage to wait for her for the duration of lunch.

I sit and cross my legs, examining the auditorium in every corner. My stomach is in knots and the nerves won't let me eat so I don't really mind missing lunch to wait for Rachel. Time ticks by and I lie on my back, almost falling asleep when the bell rings to signify the end of lunch. I sit up in frustration and realize that Rachel probably didn't want to see me, or at least wasn't ready to.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot a small piece of paper slightly behind the curtain that wasn't there before. I leap towards it and read it, knowing it was the message I left in Rachel's book:

_Miss you. –Q_

Rachel was there with me the whole time, just out of sight. I pocket the slip of paper and leave feeling slightly better.

* * *

I meet Santana and Brittany in the hall after my classes, jittery with nerves; it probably didn't help that I haven't eaten anything all day. I fight the urge to bite my already shortened nails and instead clench my fists at my side, chewing at the inside of my lip.

"What's wrong, Q? It looks like you're eating your mouth," Brittany says and giggles lightly at the end.

"I—I'm about to do something and make a complete fool out of myself," I confess, feeling sicker now that I've said it out loud.

"What could you possibly be doing in glee—oh my God, you're going to _sing_," Santana hisses and covers her mouth, eyes widened in shock.

"Yeah," I admit breathlessly.

"For _her_," Santana adds, still clearly in shock.

I nod in response with a gulp, knowing now more than ever that if I open my mouth I will throw up.

"That's so cute! Santana never sings for me," Brittany grumbles and looks at Santana dejectedly.

"That's really not true. Remember last night?" Santana purrs in Brittany's ear, loud enough for me to hear and I scoff. _Can't handle that right now_. Brittany looks mollified and grins at Santana, kissing her on the cheek.

"Can't be grossed out Quinn, you might be one of us," Santana teases in a high pitched voice and I growl. "Heard you called out a new moratorium on Berry," Santana says proudly, smirking at me.

"I shouldn't have ever called it off to begin with," I admit shamefully, shaking my head and looking at the floor before whispering, "_I don't think I can do this_."

Brittany gives me an encouraging hug and tells me that I can do anything. Santana squeezes my hand before walking into the room, giving me as much encouragement as she possibly can in one small gesture of kindness.

I've heard the song a million times and have been running through the lines in my head, knowing I've at least got the memorization down. _Finn is going to be in there_, but I have to ignore him and make this work. I take a deep breath and walk in through the doorway, effectively grabbing Mr. Schue to tell him that I have a project that I've been working on that I would like to share.

I try not to look around the room but alas, it was inevitable. When I look up, Puck is in the corner tuning his guitar, Finn is looking at me anxiously, curious as to where I've been all day. I easily look away from him and find the chocolate eyes I've been thinking about gazing at me, wondering what I'm about to do.

I give her a swift nod of the head and sit down on the stool in the middle of the room, awkwardly pulling the microphone towards me. Puck comes and sits next to me with his guitar, agreeing to have played for me last night. Here's hoping he got the song down, considering I don't think he listens to Joseph Arthur for fun.

"Quinn, what's going on?" Finn asks me loudly, obviously ignoring my preparation. I shake my head at him and give him no answer, looking at Rachel again. She looks at me with wide eyes and turns red, I believe realizing only _now _what I'm about to do.

I turn the microphone and tap it a few times, coughing uncomfortably and telling the room, "I—uh—this isn't something I normally do. Some things are worth the embarrassment though, and the risk."

Santana wolf whistles and Rachel leans forward in her seat, eagerly waiting for me to begin.

"Okay," I whisper, aware that the whole room is watching me. I try to breath out my anxiety, closing my eyes to let the song flow. I look at Puck and nod for him to begin, and he gets every part right so far. I grin at him and feel much more confident before beginning to sing.

_Don't know why I'm still afraid,  
If you weren't real I would make you up, now.  
I wish that I could follow through,  
I know that your love is true  
and deep as the sea.  
But right now  
Everything you want is wrong,  
And right now  
All your dreams are waking up,_

_And right now,  
I wish I could follow you_

_To the shores of freedom,  
Where no one lives._

The beginning is a little bit pitchy, but then again I was never the best singer. Once I get the hang of the song I risk opening my eyes, ignoring an increasingly angrier looking Finn and make eye contact with the only person in the room who matters just now. She's watching me with a mesmerized expression, practically falling forward out of her seat. Instead of closing my eyes I continue to sing more passionately, maintaining eye contact with Rachel.

_Remember when we first met  
and everything was still a bet in love's game.  
You would call, I'd call you back  
and then I'd leave a message  
on your answering machine._

_But right now,_  
_everything is turning blue,_  
_And right now_  
_the sun is trying to kill the moon,_  
_And right now,_  
_I wish I could follow you_  
_To the shores of freedom,_  
_Where no one lives._

I take a second to wink at Rachel, whose jaw is completely slackened and blushes at me. Puck gently sings the next part and I'm surprised by his talent.

_Freedom,  
run away tonight.  
Freedom, freedom  
run away,  
run away tonight._

I close my eyes and continue singing, noting how everyone is swaying and enjoying the song—aside from Finn and Rachel, though for entirely different reasons.

_We're made out of blood and rust,  
looking for someone to trust without a fight.  
I think that you came too soon;  
You're the honey and the moon  
That lights up my night._

_Ever since I've been with you,  
You hold me up;  
All the time I'm falling down._

Puck joins me on the last verse and we finish perfectly in sync on the last note.

_Freedom,  
run away tonight.  
Freedom, freedom  
run away,  
run away tonight._

The song ends and the room starts clapping and cheering; Puck stands up and bows, grinning at the audience. He holds a hand for me to stand up and I graciously take it, bowing once with him before running to take my seat next to Santana. When I look back at Rachel she's grinning shyly at me with pink cheeks and doesn't look away. I beam at her, thankful that this actually worked—even if only a little bit.

"You _killed _it," Santana whispers in amazement into my ear, slapping my knee.

"Bravo, Quinn! Really, amazing. I suppose everyone should work on guy's week now? Unless someone else has a crazy good performance up their sleeve," Mr. Schue says and grins at the glee club.

"Hold up," Finn yells, eyeing me skeptically and saying, "Are we all going to just pretend that _my _girlfriend didn't just sing a song about someone else?"

"Watch it, Frankenteen," Santana hisses; threatening Finn is clearly her favorite thing to do.

I feel guilty, true, but I knew going into the room that this was going to be his reaction.

"Shut up, Santana. Quinn, did you sing that for someone who isn't me? And why do you have a giant bruise under your eye?" he asks heatedly, hoping for me to come up with an easy explanation.

Instead, I stand up and say to the room, "You know what? I think today's a good day to bow out and skip glee club."

I blow a kiss to the audience and run out the door, hoping to outrun Finn. I laugh from the adrenaline and keep running out until I reach the parking lot, stopping only then to catch my breath; laughing in between each gasp.

The door bursts open behind me and I jump thinking that it's Finn, preparing to run again. What I don't expect is a flustered Rachel, clutching her bag to her shoulder and panting heavily beside me.

"Rachel? Shouldn't you be in glee club?" I ask her incredulously, watching her gasp for air.

"So should you," she finally retorts after catching her breath and adding, "I wanted to catch you before you left."

"Is that so?" I ask, nervously playing with the end of my pony tail.

She stands up straight and pulls her keys out of her bag, looking at me with warm eyes and asking me gently, "Do you—maybe want to come over?"

* * *

**A/N: The song is 'Honey and the Moon' by Joseph Arthur.**


	10. Nightmares

**A/N: Thank you all so much for all of the reviews, follows and favorites. You truly inspire me and it's extremely encouraging!**

**I know Rachel Berry's 'real' birthday is December 18, but for story purposes it's been moved to November 18.**

**Chapter Ten: Nightmares**

_She stands up straight and pulls her keys out of her bag, looking at me with warm eyes and asking me gently, "Do you—maybe want to come over?"_

"I thought you'd never ask," I say, giving Rachel an award winning smile. She giggles and blushes, clutching her new book close to her chest and looking at the ground in between us.

I step forward, lessening the distance between us and pushing a stray lock of Rachel's hair out of her face, wondering where I got this courage from at the back of my mind. She looks up at me warmly and her lips part but no words escape her mouth. Rather, while delicately stroking the side of her face, I whisper, "You know how sorry I am, don't you?"

She hesitates, leaning slightly into my touch and searching my eyes hungrily for—_something_. Whatever it is, she seems to find it and says breathlessly, "Yeah, I—_yeah_." Without wasting another second, Rachel tosses her book and bag on the ground, throws her arms around my neck and pulls me close to her, burying her face in my neck and knocking the wind out of me.

And there we were, Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray embracing each other on the front steps to McKinley High. The parking lot before us full of cars but devoid of bodies, and it seems no one else deemed us worthy of chasing. Perhaps it's reckless, as somewhere in the back of my mind that _cares_ about things like popularity reminds me, but I banish the thought in an attempt to enjoy this blissful hold. The scent that is just so _Rachel _surrounds me and I feel nothing but relief, contentment and _butterflies_ while she plays with the hair on the back of my neck.

Unfortunately, we can't stand out here holding each other all day. I cough and awkwardly extract myself from Rachel's grasp, feeling just as disappointed as she looks.

After a few seconds of gazing into Rachel's eyes, her demeanor shifts and she smirks at me. She says in a playful voice, "You know, I'm not easy."

My face flushes while I imagine Rachel naked, approaching me...

"What—what? Easy? Do you mean like, easy as in not difficult to deal with or _easy_-easy?" I stutter, while Rachel tilts her head and eyes me curiously.

"I mean, you're going to have to work harder to get me to forgive you," Rachel clarifies with a grin, picking her bag and book back up off the ground and searching around for her keys.

I exhale a _loud_ sigh of relief and straighten up, teasing, "I think you're a _little _easy."

"Is that so, Fabray?" Rachel asks with her arms crossed, keys dangling from her fingers.

"Well, I mean, here we are," I say, gesturing between the two of us and beaming at her.

"Just because I missed you and wanted to talk to you—"

"Hug me—" I interrupt and correct her while she rolls her eyes.

"—Doesn't mean that I have completely forgiven you yet," she finishes in a huff.

"What would you have me do, Rachel?" I ask her sincerely, watching her jump gracefully down a few of the steps and fight a smile.

"You're going to have to _work _for it," she explains and winks at me, turning her back to me and walking out into the parking lot.

I'm hit with a brief blast of butterflies before I can chase after her. I yell, "Hey, wait!" and run down the stairs, following her into the parking lot.

"I thought you wanted to hang out!" I shout in a pained voice, clearly disappointed by her leaving.

"What, did you think I was leaving without you? _What _would be the point in skipping the rest of glee club if I wasn't going to be with you?" she asks in a lighthearted, exasperated voice.

I shove her playfully when I match her stride and she giggles, shoving me back. "Looks like we aren't going to be a part of 'boy's week'; Finn's loss," Rachel says matter-of-factly while entering the driver's seat.

After putting on my seatbelt I look over at her inquiringly and she explains, "It's not like we'll be any help for him by Friday after missing the first two days of the week. We have no routine, no song, and quite frankly I hate the boy and have more interest in sabotaging him than I do in helping him now. Unfortunately, Mr. Schue is probably going to yell at us and make a big deal out of us being 'disqualified'. Finn will probably either have to perform alone or miraculously find some partners."

Rachel shrugs as though she couldn't care less and I can't help but smile, finding it amusing. As she scrolls through her iPod she looks up at my expression and asks, "What?"

"Nothing," I say, trying to fight the grin on my face.

"No really, what?" Rachel asks, putting the iPod down and looking at me expectantly.

"I just think it's funny, that's all. _The _Rachel Berry skipping class and not caring about being disqualified from a glee contest, I'm kind of mind blown," I admit, gazing at her happily.

"Yes, well. Some things are more important than winning. And honestly, I don't see you complaining," she retorts, picking her iPod back up and settling on a band I haven't heard before while driving us out of the parking lot.

"I didn't think anything was more important than winning to you," I tease, unconsciously bobbing my head along with the beat of the song.

"Speaking of _losing_, what happened to your face?" Rachel asks, swiftly looking at me before turning back to the road.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Berry," I tell her, instinctively pressing my hand against my bruised cheek.

"Well?" she prods, waiting for an answer.

"Santana," I mumble, without giving a further explanation and Rachel says, "_Ahh_," in understanding.

"You know, I never did figure out why she was so mad at you. She must have been pretty pissed to leave a mark like that. I saw it last night but I didn't want to ask," Rachel says, reaching out and slightly lowering the volume.

"Yeah, okay. Pissed doesn't even _begin_ to cover how she was feeling towards me. I said some things yesterday that I didn't mean and I'm not proud of, taking my anger out on her. She forgave me, but not without a price," I explain, frowning while looking at myself in the mirror and poking at the big mark.

"If it helps, you look pretty sexy like that," Rachel says matter-of-factly and my face flushes.

"Thanks," I mumble, trying to fight off the ensuing butterflies. _Rachel thinks I'm sexy_.

"You forgave her for hitting you like that?" she asks in surprise, eyeing my bruise with a pained expression at a red light.

"I pissed her off, I deserved it," I admit shamefully, looking down at my hands in my lap.

"You pissed a lot of people off yesterday," Rachel retorts, looking as though she wants to reach out and touch me. The light turns green before she can try.

"I was having a bad day," I grumble, turning the volume back up and asking, "What band is this?"

"_Bloc Party_. You know, having a bad day is hardly an excuse," Rachel says mischievously, trying to set me off.

"No, you don't understand. I was having a _really _bad day," I stress and add, "Why haven't I ever heard them before?"

"I don't know, they're pretty famous and one of my all time _favorite _bands. They broke up for a while 'cause the lead singer wanted to try his own thing but it sucked so they got back together. They have a new album coming out and they're touring again and everything," Rachel says excitedly, as she normally does when she talks about the music she loves.

"Guess I better listen to them then, if they're one of your favorites," I say and she beams, turning the volume all the way up and singing along while I rock out in the passenger's seat.

As Rachel pulls up to her house I remember the slip of paper that I pocketed earlier in the auditorium. "Before I forget," I begin to say, fumbling around to find it and then holding it out for her confidently, whispering, "I believe this is yours."

I smirk at Rachel who blushes and gently takes the slip out of my grasp, looking at it fondly.

"I was there you know," she says in a low voice, placing the paper in between the book and I know it will be her new favorite bookmark.

"I figured that out when I found my note on the ground not far behind me. I don't know how you could have been quiet enough in there that I didn't notice you. Really though, I was wishing you'd appear," I admit, grabbing my bag and pushing the car door open.

"I sat there watching you for a while, debating whether or not to make myself known," she confesses while getting out of the car and pressing the lock button when my door is shut. "I just couldn't bring myself to do it, so I quietly slipped out the back. I guess I dropped the note," Rachel explains as we walk to the front door, readjusting her shoulder bag and holding the book tightly under her arm.

"Hello?" she says in a loud sing-song voice to the house, waiting to see who is home to respond.

I shoot off a quick text to my mother, telling her I won't be home for dinner and I don't get a reply. I guess she's sleeping, or perhaps passed out. I shake off the thought and untie my shoes, leaving them at the door.

"I'm kind of sick of being in uniform; can I maybe borrow a pair of shorts?" I ask Rachel, fidgeting with my tight shirt.

"That's a shame, I love a girl in uniform," she says, smirking with a wink.

"Too bad because this girl is feeling a hoodie and some shorts," I retort, scowling and pink from embarrassment.

"Aren't you supposed to be buying back my forgiveness?" Rachel asks, teasingly.

"What, am I supposed to give you a lap dance in uniform or something?" I respond sarcastically and then blush furiously, mentally chastising myself for being so obvious while Rachel looks away.

"Hey cutie pie," Leroy says as he enters the foyer, reaching out to give Rachel a big hug. I stand awkwardly still, worried that I'm going to be attacked for upsetting Rachel.

"Hello Quinn, I haven't seen you in a few days," Leroy says coolly, releasing Rachel, who narrows her eyes at him.

"Yes, well, I've been a bit busy," I explain, scratching at the back of my head while he gazes at me intensely.

"'_Busy_'," he repeats sarcastically, towering over me and I gulp.

Rachel stands in front of me and scowls at her father, whispering, "That's enough, daddy."

"Now, now, Rachel, stay calm. I just think Quinn and I need to have a little chat," he says menacingly and I nod in agreement, knowing I've just mentally signed my death sentence.

"You can't scare off every friend I get!" Rachel yells, angrily.

"It's okay, Rach," I say soothingly, "You should go upstairs. I think your dad and I kind of understand each other."

I look at him hopefully and he warily leads me into the kitchen, all the while I can hear the funeral march in my head.

Rachel is halfway up the stairs before she shouts, "Don't make me regret this, dad!"

He snorts at the message and I'm hit with immediate relief, almost visibly sighing before he crosses his arms again and looks down on me.

"Well?" he asks, tapping a finger against his arm.

"Uh, well what—sir?" I ask nervously, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Oh Quinn, don't be a smartass. What happened?" he asks, grabbing some cookies out of the jar and placing them before me and adding, "Go on and eat them; they're good."

"Are these cookies supposed to be a punishment?" I ask incredulously and he rolls his eyes.

"Certainly not, they're chocolaty and delicious," he scoffs, grabbing two glasses out of the cupboard and filling them with milk.

"I'm just a bit confused, sir. In my house, usually I don't get cookies with an ass kicking," I admit abrasively.

He purses his lips and his eyes flash out of blatant disapproval for my parent's _lack_ of parenting skills, but he refrains from criticizing them openly. Instead, he places a glass of milk in front of me and holds a cookie out for me, which I take a small bite out of.

"These are _wonderful_. Did Rachel make them?" I ask, eating the rest of the cookie whole and washing it down with some milk.

"She did," he consents coldly and adds, "She made almost six batches in a fit of sadness before I stopped her and she ran to her room in tears."

I choke on the bite of my next cookie and he pats me on the back until I catch my breath. I drink a few gulps of milk and look at Leroy guiltily, realizing that he _knows _it's my fault without Rachel saying anything.

"Here's the thing, I lost myself. Or, well, I found myself? And then I lost myself and found myself again? It's actually a really confusing mess but I promise that I'm trying to make it up to her," I explain, watching his frown line twitch.

He's silent for a long moment before he pops a cookie into his mouth and sighs, leaning against the countertop. "So what's the plan for her birthday?" he asks with his mouth full.

"I—wait, what?" I ask incredulously, thoroughly confused.

"You say that you're trying to make it up to her so I'm just going to take your word for it and that's that. I suppose I have to get used to you being in her life for now and take that for whatever 'confusing mess' it is. Her birthday is on Friday and the only friend she ever had around for it was Jackie, so I'm hoping you've got some ideas," he explains, grabbing another cookie.

At the mention of her name I scowl and clench my fists, but fight the anger in order to have a polite birthday discussion with Rachel's father, who I incidentally thought was going to kill me. This, on the other hand, could be much worse.

"To be perfectly honest, I haven't given it much thought. I had an idea, but then everything got a bit complicated and I didn't think Rachel would have forgiven me, well, _ever_ and—"

"Easy, Quinn. Slow down," Leroy says with a twinkle in his eye, seeming much friendlier than when I walked in the door. He continues, "I guess I was just hoping for some help with a little party. Obviously Hiram and myself, but the only friend I know she has is you."

"And Puckerman," I correct him and he nods.

"Right, and Noah. I guess I'm just asking if there are more bodies we can add to the place," he explains and my eyebrows furrow thoughtfully.

_Who would come to Rachel's birthday party_?

"I'm really sorry but I don't think Rachel really talks to anyone other than us," I admit sadly, frowning and running my fingers through my hair.

"Give it some thought, will you?" he asks me hopefully.

"Sure thing, Mr. Berry," I say, nodding furiously in the hopes of getting back on his good side.

"And for the love of God, would it _kill _you to call me Leroy?" he asks in exasperation, causing me to giggle.

"It might," I admit, chuckling while Rachel storms into the kitchen with a look of fierce determination that wavers when she sees me laughing.

"I was half-convinced that you were dead, you know," she says darkly, looking back and forth between me and her grinning father.

"I'm fine, Rachel. Really, your dad just wanted to give me some of your cookies," I say, winking quickly.

The atmosphere in the kitchen became the difference between night and day, from fearful and cold to the usual warmth I find myself in when I'm at the Berry household. The only worry that I have is how I can make Rachel's birthday different. _Extraordinary_, even. Even if I told the whole school to come, they'd simply trash the house while getting trashed themselves. As soon as I get home, I intend to get her the best present that I can think of that's uniquely Rachel, something _special_. Rachel tugs on my finger, signaling for us to leave the kitchen and go upstairs.

"Earth to Quinn," Rachel says, snapping Quinn out of her thoughts. "What were you thinking just now?" she asks, tilting her head curiously, looking at me happily.

"Just thinking about what exactly it is that you deserve," I tell her mysteriously with a smirk.

"And what is it that I deserve, Quinn?" Rachel asks while pulling me by the hand up to one of her rooms.

When we reach the top of the stairs, she chooses the direction of her 'play room' and I go in, happy to spot a pair of shorts and one of her clever t-shirts waiting for me to change into. I grab them off the couch and look at her warmly, admitting, "I think you deserve the world." After that fond admission I walk past a shocked, red tinted Rachel to enter the bathroom and change out of this cheerleading uniform, much to Rachel's dismay. I take a deep breath and exit the bathroom, noting how truly happy I feel just being here in her company.

I stop in the doorway, pull on a hoodie that was hanging on Rachel's door and watch her with a small smile as she looks through her DVDs with a finger on her lip and wearing a thoughtful expression. She seems to be mouthing the titles, thoroughly focused on the ever so _important_ task of finding the best movie for us to watch together.

"What about Harry Potter?" I ask behind her, softly, and she jumps.

She looks at me with twinkling eyes, eyeing the sweatshirt and asks, "Okay, but which one?"

"Any but the sixth," I respond, waving my hand nonchalantly in the air and sitting down on the couch, comfortably snuggling up to one end.

"Absolutely, that movie was absolute garbage. The only reason I even _bought _it was because it's a Harry Potter movie and I needed it to complete the collection after all," Rachel says in one of her typical, passionate rants.

"I know! It was more like 'Harry Potter and the Hormones' than the book, though granted it did have more of a romantic undertone—what? Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask after agreeing and begin biting my bottom lip.

She grins at me and explains, "I think this is the _first _time you and I agree on something, really."

I positively beam at her while she turns around to mentally weigh the pros and cons of each Harry Potter movie. I lay here, on Rachel's couch, in complete contentment. For the moment, I really couldn't care less about Finn, cheerleading or even McKinley high. At this moment, I'm warm, happy and genuinely safe to be whoever I want to be, watching a movie I love instead of something that's expected of me.

"What about the _Goblet of Fire_?" Rachel asks, looking around at me for approval.

"Eh, I don't know. Cedric Diggory is kind of prissy to me and it's really nothing like the book," I say, wearing somewhat of a frown.

"Well the books are never like the movies, so unless you lighten up on your judgment you'll never enjoy them," Rachel responds, holding movies two and five in both hands and looking between them.

"Yeah, but at least some were better than others," I shrug, waiting for her to pick.

"I can't choose. _Chamber of Secrets_ or _Order of the Phoenix_?" she asks, holding them up for me.

"Let's go with the _Chamber of Secrets_, at least that one was somewhat accurate," I answer, hoping not to insight some more of our playful banter and actually sit through a whole movie. Rachel rolls her eyes but smiles gently as she places the movie in. She looks at me and bites her lip, choosing to sit on the very opposite side of the couch.

"Rachel," I say confidently, waiting for her to look at me. When she doesn't answer I repeat, "_Rachel_."

"Yes, Quinn?" she asks innocently with wide eyes, but I know better.

"Come here, you goof," I say, rolling my eyes and patting the couch next to me. I gulp but valiantly fight my nerves, and when she sits down as close as she can get to me without actually touching me, I place the blanket over both of our laps.

She looks over at me; face inches away from mine, and my breath hitches. Her eyes twinkle and she lays her head down on my shoulder, allowing me to breathe and become easily intoxicated by her scent. I place my head on top of hers and observe how well we seem to fit together. _It seems to fit the theory, really, that I have the hots for Berry_.

As scary as that notion is, I do my best not to run from it but rather accept that this amazing girl lying next to me might not just be winning my affections, but rather is taking them without much effort.

We get through a significant part of the movie without interruption, laughing lightly and reciting our favorite parts. Occasionally we'd hear her fathers talking loudly in the hallway or down the stairs, but they never intruded upon our time together and seemed to be leaving us alone. It was nice, really, feeling this _close_ and closing my eyes occasionally as I laid my head atop of hers.

Then, as though I had fallen asleep into a nightmare, Santana comes barging into the room, Brittany following closely behind. At first, I stare at them blankly, considering the possibility that I've fallen asleep from how comfortable I was feeling. It's not until Rachel jumps up and away from me, looking back and forth between me and Santana apprehensively, that I allow the horror to sink in.

"Were you and Berry _cuddling_?" Santana asks incredulously, bellowing laughter and kneeling on the floor, unable to continue standing.

Brittany releases Santana's hand and simply beams at the two of us before sitting on the couch and asking, "What are we watching?"

Rachel and I are too horrified to respond, watching Santana calm down and catch her breath on the floor. Unfortunately, Brittany says excitedly, "Oh yay! Harry Potter!" and Santana's laughing returns full force, tears streaming down her face.

My horror quickly turns to anger as I narrow my eyes at Santana's form in the doorway. "What the _hell _are you doing here?" I ask, clenching my fists and feeling awful for the frightened look Rachel is wearing.

Unable to respond, my head begins to throb from frustration while Brittany looks at her affectionately and answers for her, "San wanted to tell you something that was super duper important."

"It must be important for you to have come here," Rachel whispers, still looking at my two friends anxiously. I take a step closer to her, wanting desperately to comfort her.

"And it is, Berry," Santana says with a voice still quavering with laughter, "The orca is pretty angry after you humiliated him today and didn't even bother to stick around and give him an explanation."

"Ha! Like Shamu, you're funny sweetie," Brittany says to Santana in between giggles and Santana looks at her lovingly.

I turn red with embarrassment and become flustered instantly, asking, "Yeah, but it's not like he'd know to come here, would he?"

"Nah, I don't think so," Santana says, sitting down next to Brittany on the couch and putting an arm around her, continuing, "He didn't see the connection between you and Rachel running out of glee club together at relatively the same time. He started yelling at Mr. Schue to go after you but he refused. So I was like, 'Hey pastry boy, maybe you should calm your fetus face down.' He didn't like that, so then he yelled and left glee, probably to go after you. Oh, and by the way, Mr. Schue is pissed at you both as well, saying that you're disqualified from boy's week." Santana rolls her eyes, considering how that must be the best punishment in the history of ever.

"I told you we'd be disqualified!" Rachel yells at me, forgetting all pretenses of being afraid of Santana.

"I thought you didn't care and that some things are '_more important than winning_'?" I scoff, raising an eyebrow at her and she looks abashed.

"Yeah, I did say that. I'm just saying that I was right," Rachel clarifies, crossing her arms and looking at Santana and Brittany grumpily for taking up the couch.

"So aside from the midget being spot on, you've also got to deal with coach. She was furious that you skipped practice today," Santana says gleefully, watching my expression of disdain.

"You don't have to look so _happy _about it," I reply through gritted teeth, wishing I could hit her and give her a taste of her own medicine.

"Actually, I do. You've managed to piss off even more people today, Q. This must be like a record, and I love watching you weasel your way out of this shit," Santana replies with a genuine smile plastered on her face.

"Who even let you in here?" I ask her, viciously.

"The two faeries downstairs," Brittany says happily, still watching the end of the _Chamber of Secrets_. Santana snorts and I immediately look at Rachel, who appears more appalled than I did when my two best friends walked in.

"Uh, you know, Brit, that's not exactly politically correct," I hurry to correct her before Rachel snaps, as she looks clearly on the brink.

"I wasn't trying to be like the president," Brittany retorts, rolling her eyes.

"No, Britt-Britt, she meant that you can't call gay people 'faeries'," Santana explains, soothingly.

"Who's gay? The two faeries downstairs are gay?" Brittany asks with wide eyes and adds, "So they're like, super rainbow faeries with double magic!"

Rachel looks immediately placated and tilts her head curiously at Brittany, eyes shifting to me for some kind of explanation. I merely shake my head in the effort of portraying to Rachel not to bother trying to understand.

"When I walked in I could just tell that they were magic folk and hiding their wings. They're really rare to come across, I'm sure they're hiding a unicorn somewhere, Rachel Berry," Brittany says sincerely to Rachel, who once more looks at me for validation, shooting me a look that blatantly asks, 'Is this real life?'

"Brittany, you do realize that faeries and unicorns aren't real—" Rachel begins, only to be violently cut off by Santana and myself bellowing, "NO!"

"—really in this house," Rachel finishes, taking the hint and correcting her previous statement with confusion in her eyes.

Santana breathes an obvious sigh of relief while Brittany jumps into a tangent about how she knows her fathers are faeries and what the signs are to spot one. Further, she _insists _that all faeries families have a pet unicorn, and she's sorry that Rachel didn't get the faerie gene.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Santana says mischievously, smirking between the two of us and I blush profusely.

"Alright girls, time to go. We're _leaving_," I state to the both of them in my final tone and they stand immediately.

Rachel looks sad to see me go, but understands that I would prefer them not being here and bothering her. I place a hand on her arm and convey all the emotions I wish I could state, but cannot because Santana is near. She seems to understand and smiles, patting my hand and letting me go. I whisper, "I'll call you later."

"I'll be waiting," she replies in a low voice.

"God, you both are disgusting," Santana says, pulling me along and wearing a faint green look, as though nauseated.

"That's really funny, coming from you, Santana. Considering you were here being 100% supportive of us yesterday," Rachel says sarcastically, scoffing at her. Santana looks taken aback, and if I'm not mistaken, somewhat impressed at Rachel for standing up to her.

"BYE RACHEL!" I yell, pulling Santana quickly down the stairs before she can argue with her.

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?" I tell Santana as we're walking to her car.

"Oh right, thanks, I'm a pain in the ass for coming here to warn you about all the drama you missed and will apparently walk right into for the rest of the week," Santana snaps sarcastically, turning the engine on.

"What did you have to come here for? You could have called me!" I ask angrily, snapping my seatbelt in and ignoring Brittany's humming in the backseat.

"Are you on drugs? Seriously, are you taking something? I did call you about _50 fucking times_ and it went straight to voicemail!" Santana shouts, ferociously jerking the car away from the sidewalk and speeding down the road.

Sure enough, when I take my phone out of its pocket I see that it's turned off and realize that it's probably dead.

"_Damn_," I hiss, realizing that Santana is right.

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry," I admit grudgingly, plugging my phone into her car charger and turning it on to a million missed calls from Santana and Finn.

"You _really _need to dump the Hamburglar already," Santana says exasperated, sensing what I'm seeing on my phone.

"I know," I reply coolly and both her and Brittany jump in surprise.

"Really? You're really going to _actually _do it?" Santana asks, wearing a shocked expression and almost hitting a pole.

"_Will you watch where you're going_?" I hiss and she mumbles an apology.

After I calm down I reply, "I guess I'm going to have to, won't I? I can hardly stand the boy."

"About fucking time," Santana says, wearing a face full of joy.

"He always reminded me of an overgrown baby Frankenstein," Brittany says matter-of-factly and Santana laughs, even I produce a small grin.

"I don't know, guys, he may be simple but he was never a bad boyfriend, exactly," I explain, defending Finn. It's not his fault that I can't be a good girlfriend, not really anyway.

"Right well now that Berry's all gay for Fabray, it must be even harder," Santana replies thoughtfully, wearing a smirk.

"Rachel doesn't have those feelings for me. It's me who has a problem and I'm taking care of it," I mumble, frowning.

"Are you out of your mind? That girl really is crazy about you. How could you 'take care of it'?" Santana replies incredulously.

"Well, I'm being a good friend to her—that's how. By being a good friend eventually my unnatural feelings will leave and we can remain close friends," I explain, half-heartedly and knowing that even as I say it, the words sound ridiculous and impossible. In fact, Santana snorts loudly and says, "Yeah, good luck with that one, Q."

* * *

As expected, the days following my experience at Rachel's house were, in fact, full of drama. Santana was right in telling me that I had pissed off a lot of people. Finn, the first of my dramatic encounters, had been waiting for me the next morning right outside my house. I called Santana in a panic and she did a quick drive by, allowing me to make a run for it directly into her car with a few panicked '_Go, go, go!'_'s until she sped off. We laughed for a bit about it, until she saw him in her rearview mirror looking as angry as he could possibly get. I dodged him the best I could in between classes and after being yelled at (Rachel too) by Mr. Schue, we were kicked out of glee club for the week and forced to work in the library during that time slot. Honestly, I couldn't have been more pleased for the extra time with Rachel and I had a real excuse to avoid Finn.

Sure, I was being immature about the whole situation. Quite frankly, I was scared that dumping Finn would really be the start of my whole life changing. And how can you ever be ready for that? How can you ever really decide when you're ready for your whole life, your view on the world, your schemas perhaps, to do a 180? And that's exactly where my life was heading: upside down. I'm turning into the opposite of myself, the anti-Quinn, but not exactly Lucy either. So what does that make me now?

A new Quinn—a _better _Quinn, even. But holding onto Finn allows me to squeeze a few more days out of the life that I've grown accustomed to. And maybe I'm being melodramatic about the whole thing, but hasn't everything already begun to change? Didn't I fall asleep on the phone with Rachel Berry almost every night this week because we both refused to hang up? Sometimes these things are set into a motion we can't get out of, because maybe even though we're on the path we think is right for us, destiny likes to give us a good slap in the face and knock us off course. It's funny, almost, thinking about the plan we set out for ourselves when there's something bigger out there planning for us.

How else would I have found myself desperately searching for gifts online as soon as I got home from Rachel's house on Tuesday night? Frantically trying to find the perfect gift for hours to no avail as Rachel doesn't need clothes. Actually, there are a lot of things Rachel doesn't need as her fathers spoil her to no avail. But that's my point, isn't it? If things weren't already changing, why would I have bothered caring? Why would I have gone through website upon website, scrolling through sweaters and watches and earrings, if I didn't care so deeply that it's changed me?

When I finally stumbled across the perfect gift, I immediately ran for my debit card, regardless of my saving for a car. The price didn't even matter and I hardly looked at it. I just _knew _that Rachel would love it, so I had to get it. Additionally, I took into account what Leroy had requested of me at their house and honestly tried to find a solution. Unfortunately, I went looking to Santana for some guidance and she couldn't see how anyone would want to go to a 'dry' party. I really couldn't see it either, but she seemed to think that I was wasting my time.

After admitting to liking Rachel, or at least agreeing that she's not '_that bad_', Santana agreed to come over with Brittany. Actually, it was more like I mentioned the possibility of cake and Brittany freaked out, insisting that they go. As they're two more bodies than before, I feel somewhat satisfied. At first I was worried that Rachel would actually be upset about their presence on her birthday, but considering their attitudes towards one another this week, that fear has been quickly squashed. Santana and Brittany join me in greeting Rachel every morning; sometimes I've even caught them talking to Rachel on their own.

I've spent every lunch period with Rachel in the auditorium, narrowly escaping Finn and even Santana and Brittany, considering how deeply I value my alone with her. Aside from our phone calls at night that was just about _all _the alone time we were getting at the moment. Coach Sylvester was so livid about me missing practice and thus my captaincy duties, she's been having me stay late every night to do double the work out. While I have been very sore, it's certainly had a silver lining in which Rachel has taken it upon herself to be my nurse and has been waiting for me after my practices with ice packs.

Finally, I plucked up the courage to corner Finn in the hallway on the day of Rachel's birthday. He relentlessly asked me where I had been, what I had been up to, whether or not I was cheating on him; _blah, blah, blah_. I held my hand up and insisted upon us immediately going on a break, for my own personal reasons that really had nothing to do with him. The notion made him quite furious indeed, and later that afternoon when Rachel and I snuck into the auditorium to see the glee performances, he sang _Cry Me A River _by Justin Timberlake. Unfortunately, I wasn't paying him much attention due to Rachel drawing different shapes and letters on my hand with her fingers.

It was with great regret that I had to be dropped off at my house after school rather than go straight to Rachel's house. However, it was certainly a necessity as I wanted to look my best for her birthday dinner. It was only when I showed up at her house with Santana and Brittany not a few hours later, wearing a light yellow sundress and holding a small gift and card in my hand, that she beamed at me and understood.

"You look _breathtaking_," Rachel whispers into my ear as I pull her into a hug. I squeeze her tightly for a moment before releasing her. She looks at a disgruntled Santana appraisingly and then invites her and Brittany into the house.

"What's wrong with you?" she asks Santana, who merely grunts in reply, and then looks back at me in confusion.

"Don't look at me," I say, shaking my head back and forth and adding, "All I know is that it's got something to do with the bag Brittany is holding, which I'm not allowed to touch."

"Should I be concerned?" Rachel asks, eyeing the bag warily.

"Nah, Brit's harmless," I reply, taking in my surroundings. Her father's have decorated the house with streamers, balloons, and a large sign hanging in between two walls with a big 'Happy Birthday!' message. When I enter the kitchen, I see the Berry men humming, delicious food lining the countertops and Noah Puckerman playing his Nintendo 3DS, yelling something about a _Pokémon_.

"Hello Quinn! I see you've brought your sassy friend with you, and the sassy friend's girlfriend, I presume," Hiram says, welcoming us into the kitchen.

"You don't even know the half of it," Santana replies, eyeing all the food with hesitation and asking, "Is vegan food any good?"

"You're quite forthright, aren't you? And yes, it's good," Leroy says, looking at Santana thoughtfully.

"I don't have a filter," she says, shrugging and popping a signature chocolate chip cookie into her mouth. She narrows her eyes at them and promptly grabs a few more, sitting down at the table with Brittany while frowning at Puck and shoving another cookie into her mouth.

My stomach grumbles and to my embarrassment Rachel hears it, immediately asking her fathers if dinner is ready to be eaten.

"I think my guests are hungry," Rachel says, smiling at me warmly and I blush.

"Here, here!" Santana yells from the table, clearly in agreement and I roll my eyes at her.

I move towards the table and hiss at her, "I can't take you anywhere!"

"Yes ladies, and uh, Noah, everything is ready so—dig in!" Leroy says happily while Hiram fixes one of the falling streamers on the wall. I feel a pang of sadness when I realize that I've never had a birthday like this, not really anyway. The closest thing I can remember is the time my birthday had fallen on a Sunday when I was a child. After mass, my youth group had set up some balloons in the basement and baked cupcakes.

When I look at Rachel, and how she's currently emanating pure happiness, it's almost like it's my birthday, too. I'm so happy that she has parents like this who love her and treat her as best they can. I beam at her when I remember the surprise Hiram has in store for her as her birthday gift. Speaking of her gift, Hiram slips out the backdoor and I wouldn't be surprised if he was taking the car for a quick wash.

After we all eat helpings upon helpings of Leroy's delicious food, laughing when Noah made an inappropriate comment about Santana and Brittany and Santana shoved his face into his food, and even Santana eats every crumb, we sit there lazily for awhile. Then, after throwing our paper plates in the trash, Hiram comes in excitedly.

"I think it's time for presents!" he shouts excitedly, looking fondly at his daughter.

"You did bring a present, didn't you?" I whisper at Santana nervously.

"Isn't my presence enough of a present?" she retorts sarcastically. When I narrow my eyes at her she adds, "Yeah, okay fine I got her a gift. Happy?"

"Only if it's not going to kill her," I hiss in reply.

"Open mine first, babe," Puck says, taking a very large, poorly wrapped present away from leaning on a wall. He looks at it proudly and waits for Rachel to rip it open with a twinkle in his eye.

Rachel, is not one for frantic anything. She takes her time, carefully unfolding every corner and sliding her finger underneath every strip of tape. I observe her as though she's the only one in the room, watching as she lightly bites her lip and furrows her brows trying to make sure everything she does is perfect. I smirk lightly, feeling completely patient and content while Santana's leg bounces with annoyance.

When she finally slides the paper down she gasps at the gift in front of her. Really, I didn't expect this much from Puck; not something _this_ thoughtful. It's a fully framed 'Wanted' poster of Sirius Black—the exact replica of the one from the movie (not moving, of course). Rachel's jaw slackens in awe and Puck grins a lop-sided, pleased grin before Rachel jumps on him, giving him a huge hug. I bite back my jealousy, frowning only slightly and removing even that when Santana smirks at my expression.

"Noah, this is—_wow_, I just love it," she says, captivated.

"I figured you could hang it up in that cool room you've got upstairs," he explains while ignoring the incessant buzzes coming from his pocket, probably from all the girls trying to reach him.

"Absolutely," she says, nodding fervently.

"Well, this blows," Santana says, noticing my face and quickly continuing, "I just mean, well—you'll see. Open my gift."

Rachel hesitantly takes a well-wrapped box from Santana and opens it rather quicker than she did Puck's, perhaps out of genuine curiosity. She pulls out a genuine Harry Potter wand and beams at it, asking Santana, "Why on earth does this blow?"

"Now it seems like you're only getting Harry Potter themed gifts. It's not my fault that I don't know a whole lot about you, except that well, you're a nerd who is obsessed with this shit," she explains, seeing the look on Leroy's face and adding, "No offense."

"And it's awesome—for a geek toy, I mean. It makes the whoosh noises and everything! It's like a light saber, but without the cool light. Although, now that I think about it, I think the tip lights up…" Santana says, trailing off and grabbing the box back out of Rachel's hand to read the specs.

Rachel giggles and Brittany whips out a giant unicorn piñata, exclaiming, "Here! It's a unicorn filled with candy! Happy, happy birthday!" After she thrusts the unicorn into Rachel's hands, she smiles brightly at Brittany and says, "Thank you so much!"

A few seconds later to me she whispers, "What's with her and unicorns?"

"I have no idea," I reply, honestly. She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to hand her my present and I'm suddenly very nervous she won't like it. I don't think I can handle it in front of everyone, so I tell her, "Um, I'm going to give it to you later—in private."

Rachel's eyes widen curiously but she nods without arguing and Santana snickers in the background, clearly getting the wrong idea. I shoot her a look of pure evil, that she shrugs off and continues to smirk, before Leroy says, "I suppose it's my turn."

He pulls out from behind him a very tiny, mint green box wrapped with a white bow and I know instantly what that is: _Tiffany's_. Rachel takes the box as her father whispers, "Happy birthday, honey," and delicately unwraps the white bow. She inhales sharply when she opens the top to find two beautiful white gold diamond earrings.

"Daddy, I don't know what to say," she whispers, while tears come to her eyes.

"Just say thank you and that you promise you won't lose them," he chuckles, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she says, quickly wiping away at a tear and wrapping her arms tightly around his middle.

I suppress a giggle knowing that this is only going to get better, as her favorite Mustang is waiting for her outside, in her name.

"It's my turn!" Hiram says excitedly and Rachel looks at him in surprise, asking, "But these earrings weren't from the both of you?"

"No, no, silly. Our daughter only comes of age once, you know," he says, practically bouncing on his feet.

"Follow me!" he exclaims, practically running out the front door.

Santana walks up beside me and asks, "Can her parents adopt me too?" I chuckle at her and pat her on the back, following the Berry's outside.

Rachel screams a second later and yells, "NO WAY, IS THIS A JOKE?"

Hiram doubles over in laughter, watching her daughter jump up and down and question him furiously. I join in as Rachel looks around at all of us, waiting for some kind of validation that this is real. Sitting behind her on the driveway is the black, 1968 Mustang that she loves so dearly, which until now belonged to her father Hiram. I guessed right; it's freshly cleaned and waxed, with a large red bow on the hood.

"Oh my God, is this real?" she asks me directly and I nod, beaming at her happiness.

"Wow Berry, that's one hell of a car," Santana admits, wolf-whistling and Puck joins in with her. I begin to shiver, as I forgot to grab a sweater on my way out.

"Thank you, thank you _so much_," she says, tears streaming down her face and hugging both her fathers at once. For no reason that I can see, she runs over to me and hugs me too. Aside from the shock and minor embarrassment due to Santana, it's nice and I chuckle a bit, rubbing her back slowly and embracing her warmth.

"I told you that your parents were magic!" Brittany whispers hurriedly to Rachel, and she giggles while wiping away her tears and pulling away from me.

"So where's my cake?" she asks, looking at her parents.

"Are you kidding? After all that you think we bought you a cake?" Hiram asks incredulously and Leroy playfully hits him on the arm.

"Only joking. Come on, birthday girl," Hiram says, leading us back inside and Rachel interlocks our arms together, producing swooping butterflies in my stomach.

I hear Santana whisper, "I love you," to Brittany behind us and my face flushes, but I choose not to call her out on it.

* * *

While everyone sings 'Happy Birthday' to Rachel, including a very irritated Santana, all I can see is Rachel in the candle light, looking at me with this bright chocolate eyes. I melt inside, as that's the only way I can describe it. Our eyes remain locked while she blows out her candles and I blush when the lights come back on and I see others in the room.

The best part, easily, is when Brittany pulls 'party hats' out of the bag and shoves one on Santana's head. She grumpily leaves it there with her arms folded and I laugh at her loudly.

"I was wishing she forgot about those," she mumbles to me, readjusting the strap across her chin. "This is my nightmare," she groans, placing her head in her hands.

I pat her on the back and say, "Cheer up," before taking a quick picture of her that I say will go on Facebook. She chases me violently around the house until I swear not to, and we make a deal that she'll be easier on Rachel and I if I don't post it. _Sweet, sweet blackmail_.

After multiple, silly party games Brittana and Puck return home, Santana mumbling something about burning her hat. Rachel gives her a tentative hug and Santana frowns, but pats her on the back once. Brittany, on the other hand, lifts Rachel and twirls her around.

While her fathers clean up the kitchen and Rachel and I are alone upstairs, I gulp nervously, knowing that this is the moment. I pull my small gift and card out from behind me and hand them to her, saying, "I know you've received better gifts tonight but I really thought—well, I thought this would be perfect for you."

She places a hand on my knee and whispers, "I'm sure I'll love it."

She slowly unwraps it and pulls out the brand new Bloc Party album she had been telling me about in the car days prior. She beams her most beautiful smile yet and shouts, "Oh, Quinn, I love it! This is my favorite of all my gifts!"

I smile and pat her hand lightly, telling her, "Rachel, that's not really your gift. That's just, well, a companion to your gift, if you will."

She looks at me in fascination, quickly tearing open the envelope without any of the patience she had been exerting earlier. I mentally cross my fingers, hoping that she'll really like this. Out fall two printed tickets:

THE BOWERY PRESENTS

BLOC PARTY

LIFESTYLE COMMUNITIES PAVILION

405 Neil Avenue, Columbus, OH 43215

SAT NOV 23 DRS 700PM

Rachel tackles me on her bed, burying her face in my neck and crying again. I chuckle and pat her on the back while she wipes her tears away and sits up, hovering over me. Her eyes, full of happiness, flicker back and forth between my own and my lips. I unconsciously wet mine, gazing up at her.

"Thank you," she whispers and adds, "That really doesn't even begin to cut it."

"You're welcome, Rach. Happy birthday," I whisper, pushing her hair back and out of her face. She leans down and I stop breathing, thinking that _this _may be the moment. At the last second she turns and kisses me on the cheek. I feel an explosion of butterflies in my stomach, and a tiny bit of disappointment, too.

"I have to get home tonight, I have an extra practice tomorrow morning at 5am," I say, sitting up.

"You know, these tickets are for a venue about 2 hours outside of town," Rachel says, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, I know. I figured you and whoever you take could take tiny a road trip," I explain, hoping the distance is worth it to her.

"Quinn, you _have _to come with me. It has to be you, I'll drive and everything," Rachel pleads, taking both my hands in hers and making a cute pouty face.

"I thought you'd never ask," I say in a low voice and grin at her.

She walks me downstairs and grabs her keys, yanking the giant bow off of _her _car. We drive back to my house in a comfortable silence, Rachel's happiness coming off of her in waves. When she gets to my house and puts the car in park, she looks at me intensely and says, "Thank you, Quinn. For everything."

She leans forward and hugs me tightly, not letting go for what seems like an eternity. When she finally loosens the grip she has around my neck she looks at me deeply in the eyes and asks rather playfully, "So about that song you sang the other day—who was that to, exactly?"

I ignore the question and extricate myself from her grasp, leaving and looking back through the open window. Softly, I tell her, "Goodnight, Rach."

* * *

**A/N: I understand that many of you will be disappointed by the lack of a detailed confrontation between her and Finn. That will be coming, eventually.**


	11. S'mores

**A/N: Wow, I can't even begin to express how amazed and grateful I am. Almost 600 followers, 400+ reviews—you guys are amazing, thank you so much!**

**The school year has begun and needless to say I haven't had any opportunities for writing. My senior year in college has certainly started off as a real pain in the ass! I haven't under any circumstances forgotten the story, and your reviews help keep me encouraged and reminded.**

**A special thanks to my beautiful girl who always reads through these chapters before I post them.**

**This is the product of a trip to Grandma's house. Enjoy, friends.**

**Chapter Eleven: S'mores**

"Rachel, tell me again why you brought so many bags?" I ask with a huff, weighed down by three of Rachel's bags as well as one of my own and trudging through the wooded trail.

"They are my necessities, as well as my emergency supplies," she states matter-of-factly from a few feet behind me, carrying three more.

"What, Berry, did you pack your whole house?" Santana quips, carrying a light backpack that contains _both _of her and Brittany's supplies as well and only _one _other bag for the tent. They hold hands and trot past us freely and happily, Santana notably smirking at my discomfort.

"Don't be silly San, her house would never fit in those bags," Brit replies, grinning at the smoke that appears in the cold air from her hot breath and blowing out again on purpose.

I growl, struggling to climb over a large tree trunk that lays strewn across the trail.

"Mr. Schue, you are seriously channeling Sylvester. These _Lucchese_ boots cost more than you make in a month, and you have me traipsing around with them in the mud!" Kurt screeches, whimpering when he steps in a particularly wet area.

"Who told you to wear cowboy boots on a camping trip?" Santana quips and Kurt deeply reddens.

"They're _western_, not that someone like you could understand the difference—"

"What do you mean, someone like _me_?" Santana snaps and Mr. Schue intervenes.

"For the last time, Kurt, camping is not intended to be a punishment. This is going to be fun, you guys! It'll be great to get our creative juices flowing and enjoy some fresh air. If any of you get inspired and feel the urge to burst out into song, don't fight it!" Mr. Schue replies happily from the front of the line, ignoring our incessant groans.

"I'd like to get some creative juices flowing, but not the kind he's talking about," Santana purrs, clearly forgetting about Kurt and Brit giggles.

"Gross, S," I frown and scoff in disgust while Rachel looks away awkwardly wearing a blush on her face. She's been hanging around my friends and I more so than ever after her birthday party last Friday night and she never seems quite prepared for when Santana makes a blatantly sexual remark.

"Quinn, do you need help with that?" Finn jogs up to me from the back of the line and I groan aloud, wishing to trip and fall into the deepest hole, never to emerge again.

"Speaking of disgusting…" Santana begins, lip curling in disgust at Finn's presence.

"Um, Mr. Schue, how do you suppose I get across this tree?" Artie asks curiously, frowning at the log before him.

"Oh no, Artie can't come! Looks like we're just going to have to go back to the bus and head back," Tina says without a trace of disappointment as she's been shivering from the cold.

"You do realize it's _November_, don't you?" Mercedes asks, rubbing her arms up and down to generate some warmth and glaring at Mr. Schue.

"You guys, it's not that cold out. I did tell you to wear some heavy clothes. Puck and Finn, come here and help me clear out a path for Artie. There will be no going back!" Mr. Schue replies adamantly, already pushing away some stray brush next to the tree.

"As long as you don't complain when I sue you for pneumonia hospital bills," Kurt grumbles, still frowning at his shoes.

Finn sighs and looks at me, waiting for me to tell him not to go or something of the sort. Instead, frustrated with the weight of these bags and the cold air, I roll my eyes at him and push on unable to tolerate him. Didn't I tell him I wanted a _break_?

"Quinn—" he begins, before Mr. Schue cuts him off yelling, "Finn, I said _come help_!"

Mr. Schue moves some branches around and when he notices Ms. Pilsbury watching him, he puffs out his chest and grabs a larger branch, throwing it off into the woods. I snort at the sight and any previous confusion as to why she was joining us on our "glee bonding camping trip" is thrown out the window.

Rachel growls at my right and I follow her line of sight, right to Finn still watching me instead of truly helping clear a path for Artie.

"Oh, come _on_," I hiss in aggravation, rolling my eyes at him and dropping my bags to the ground, deciding to take a rest.

"He won't stop looking at you," Rachel whispers, shooting daggers in Finn's direction and gently places her bags on the ground as well. Santana joins Rachel, narrowing her eyes at Finn.

"I broke up with him, Rachel. Or we're on a break...or something close! He needs to get over it," I say, approaching her apprehensively with arms extended.

"Let me handle this," Santana says, swatting away my arms and causing a moment of pure rage for blocking my potential hug.

"Santana, don't—"

"Hey, Finessa!" she shouts and adds, "Quit staring at Quinn like an obsessive stalker psychopath. _No means no_, jackass!"

Seething, Finn drops the branch he's holding and motions to charge towards Santana when Puck says, "Oh, screw this!"

He, too, drops his pile of branches and yells, "Yo, Finn, get over here."

Finn turns and returns to Puck, while he explains that they should simply lift Artie over the tree obstacle and wonders how he didn't think of it sooner.

Wondering how I got stuck on this ridiculous camping trip with such buffoons, I look at Rachel and my heart speeds up at her smiling face. She gives Santana a high-five and has sparkles in her eyes when we make eye contact. I consider how I was forced into the glee club, and how I ever could have wanted to be anywhere but here with her. I wince quickly, thinking about coach Sylvester and the plot she has for the club, which I have yet to tell Rachel about.

I have the urge to lean forward and hold her close to me, which normally would be okay when we're alone. We've spent every day together, falling asleep on the phone together at night. Unfortunately, in front of the gleeks, I haven't portrayed my 'friendship' with Rachel as anything more than that: _friendship_.

Not that it could be classified as anything else.

"Thanks guys," Artie mumbles to Finn and Puck, cheeks tinged with embarrassment and looking down at his hands.

Finn only nods but Puck says, "No worries dude, you're part of the gang," and pats him hard on the shoulder, causing him smile and wince.

"We should get going, we have about another half a mile to go to get to the camping grounds. We need to get there ASAP and reserve our spots!" Mr. Schue says, eyes glued to the map of the trail.

"Something tells me that really isn't going to be an issue," I grumble, picking my four bags back up and silently thanking Sylvester for the physical training required for this. Rachel immediately appears at my side.

"I haven't properly thanked you for your help," Rachel whispers in my ear, lips practically touching and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from moaning loudly.

"Uh—it's no problem. How's about that debt I owe you is partially paid up?" I suggest, taking a step away from her and chuckling to hide my discomfort.

"If that's what you want then, done," Rachel replies with a grin that doesn't quite meet her eyes and she increases the distance between us.

We more or less walk in silence the rest of the way with the occasional whimper from Kurt, teeth-chattering from the cold and the rapid whispering of Mr. Schue to Emma. Finding our way to the campsite seems relatively easy with the occasional sign nailed to various trees along the way. The map Schuester is holding is rendered almost completely useless, at least to the rest of us.

After the awkwardness, Rachel and I walk close enough together to allow our shoulders to brush against one another, giving me brief butterflies and electric currents of warmth each and every time. I grin slyly and brush my hair behind my ear, looking down at the ground and notice that Rachel is wearing quite the same expression.

"So…what's the luck that we ended up being camp partners and bunking together?" I ask her in a low voice so no one else can hear but us.

Rachel's eyes flash mischievousness and she smirks, whispering, "Oh, that wasn't luck at all. You see, I _just so_ _happened_ to stumble across Mr. Schue and Ms. Pilsbury a couple weeks ago meeting late night in her office when they think the school is empty. Suffice to say, a little blackmail goes a long way."

"You blackmailed Mr. Schue just to be in the same camping tent as me?" I ask incredulously, feeling a surge of affection towards her as well as laughter bubbling up in my throat.

"That, among other future requests," Rachel grins playfully.

"But wait, Schuester and that wife of his got a divorce. What difference does it make to him if a student knows they're hooking up?" I ask curiously, wondering what he has to hide.

"Oh no, it's not about him. He's all about shouting his love for her atop every roof and all the theatricality that comes with it. It's Ms. Pilsbury whose against it; she truly believes that since their divorce was only a few months ago, she'll be blamed for it and then viewed as the mistress who broke their marriage apart and be _Scarlet Letter_'d. You've seen her mental state—she'd never be able to handle that," Rachel explains in a hushed whisper.

"And—she told you all of this?" I ask skeptically.

"Of course not, don't be silly, Quinn. She doesn't even know that I know about them. Although, how on earth they think people don't assume based on their behavior is beyond me. Well, anyway, Mr. Schue sort of summed it up for me," she clarifies, looking over and smiling at me.

I smile back and consider everything Rachel said, when a cold wind blows through and chills me to the bone. Rachel immediately clings onto me and shivers into my shoulder, when Finn comes stumbling into me and pushes us apart to wrap me up in his letterman's jacket.

"What the—" Rachel begins, growling.

"It's gotten really cold out, Quinn. I thought you needed the warmth," Finn grins his lopsided grin at me and I feel cold inside for a completely different reason. Looking over at Rachel's lividness, and Santana behind her giving me an expectant expression, I snap.

I toss the bags onto the ground (Rachel completely ignores the dirt on her luggage she's so angry at Finn), and give Finn such a menacing look he takes a step backwards. Mr. Shue and Ms. Pilsbury don't seem to notice anything is wrong and continue walking at a slow pace, while the rest of our class is holding their breaths, looking back and forth between us and waiting for the bomb to drop.

"Finn, that's _it_! I've _had it _with you!" I yell, causing Mr. Schue and Ms. Pilsbury to stop short and practically trip on their faces.

Rachel's anger is replaced with surprise, but I force myself to look away from her because honestly? This isn't totally about her anymore. I never loved Finn and he should know that.

"Quinn—I was just trying—" Finn stutters with wide eyes, reaching out for me.

Seething, I shout, "Just trying to _what_? Bother me? Clearly I don't want to be near you or I'd be walking with you, now wouldn't I? I told you last week that I wanted to be on a break. What about that do you not understand? What about _some space_ is it that you don't understand? You're always in my business, in my way, _bothering _me. You really don't care at all about me—all you care about is getting underneath my Cheerio skirt! That's why you tell all the guys that you're '_nailing Quinn Fabray_' isn't it? For status? So you can feel _cool _when you're with the guys?"

The silence is deafening and Finn mouths at me wordlessly, turning bright red. He finally yells back, "How could you think I don't care about you? Is it so _wrong _to want to be _shown _love? Don't you think after months of dating you I deserve—"

"Sex isn't something you earn you fucking toolbag—"

"Santana, stay out of this," I say furiously in a menacing tone and she clamps her jaw shut immediately.

"You think I say I'm 'nailing you' for status? Yeah, I guess sometimes I do because do you have any idea how whipped I look to the rest of the guys that I've been dating you for months without getting anything out of it? I look like a total pussy. And speaking of status, you only date me for the benefit of us being the most popular kids in school. What does that say about you?" Finn argues angrily, taking a step forward towards me and everyone else follows mechanically in case they need to jump in and pull him away from me. Santana, in particular, steps directly to my right without saying anything and glares up at his beastly figure.

Everyone is looking at me, wondering how I'll respond…wondering if it's true, if I'm incapable of love and I've been using Finn for my own benefit. My eyes shift towards Rachel who's looking at me encouragingly and lovingly and God. How could I lie after that? She loves—well; she _cares _for me no matter what I do in this situation, even if I admit the worst of myself.

"You're absolutely right, Finn. I was using you and our relationship to maintain a popularity status. Whether or not you cared for me is regardless because you still spread lies upon lies about me—especially about you and I. We're both at fault and we both deserve better than this mess we're in," I admit truthfully to a mixture of awe and disapproval from the group.

"You _cheated _on me with _someone_," he pauses and throws an incensed look at Rachel before continuing, "And yet I still want to be with you. Can't we work it out?"

"Number one: I didn't cheat on you with anyone," I pause and look at Rachel's shining eyes before adding, "At least not physically. Number two: I don't want to be with you anymore, Finn. There's nothing to work out and you have to accept that."

"Like hell I do—" Finn angrily lunges at me and grabs my arm, trying to force me to kiss him.

Santana shoves him violently away from me, shouting, "¡_Lárgate Finn_!"

"I don't understand Mexican, bitch," he shouts at her, raging to get out of Puck's new grasp and hurt Santana.

"How unexpected! A stereotypical racist comment from a senseless, elitist gringo," Santana counters sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"What the hell do you think you're going to do, man? Hit a girl? Is that the kind of man you are?" Puck yells, still holding Finn back and not without effort.

His words seem to send a shock down Finn's spine and he straightens immediately, ceasing his struggle. He looks towards the two of us apologetically but says nothing, only silently regretting his anger.

"You _need _to calm down. Come and walk with me," Mr. Schue says to Finn and he nods, walking ahead with him and listening to every word. He seems to have some sort of hero-worship thing going on.

Rachel runs to my side and intertwines our fingers tightly, sharing her support and comfort with me. I close my eyes and breathe her in, ignoring the rest of the club looking at the gesture. After a few moments, I regretfully disentangle them and pick the bags back up to keep walking.

While continuing our walk, Rachel's eyes kept anxiously shifting towards me. I just needed some time to catch my breath and walk it off. I'm obviously not trying to worry about her, but when I look down my hands are still shaking from the adrenaline and I have to keep clenching them shut to steady them.

Finally, after what seems like hours in the cold, we spot a large and empty field through the trees. And when I say empty, I mean completely lifeless—there's not another person in sight. A smile crosses my lips and Rachel sighs. I look over at her in surprise and she seems relieved to see me smile. I walk towards her and brush some hair out of her face, placing a finger on her cold Rudolph nose.

"Well guys, here we are! Looks like it's just going to be us so spread out and set up your tents. I wonder where all the people are…" Mr. Schue says, eyebrows furrowed.

Santana narrows her eyes at him in disbelief, but Kurt beats her to the punch, "Really? Like, really? You _really _have to wonder why no one in their right minds would camping in _November_?"

"Okay, tiger. Time to set up our tent," Mercedes says, leading a fuming Kurt away from a dumbfounded Mr. Schue. She looks at us and rolls our eyes at him so we chuckle in response.

"Come with me," Rachel says, pulling me lightly by the hand all the way across the field to a secluded area near the trees.

"What are we doing over here?" I ask, looking across the field at everyone else.

"I figured you could use some space from them. Plus, I'd like some privacy so you can touch me without freezing up in fear that someone is going to get the wrong idea," Rachel says with a small smile, squeezing my hand before letting go and putting her bags down.

I gulp and ask confidently, "And what exactly would be the _wrong_ idea?"

I walk slowly towards her and she stops rifling through her bag, looking up at me with dark eyes. I take her by the hand and pull her up towards me with my heart beating so quickly I fear it might burst out of my chest. She looks at my lips and bites her own, eyes lingering on them far longer than they should. I unconsciously part mine and lick them lightly.

She lessens the distance between us, leaving only an inch and all I can hear is the distant sounds of my fellow gleeks as though they're in another world.

In this world, there is only Rachel and myself.

She places a hand on my cheek and my heart is beating so loudly I'm sure she can hear it. But wait, is that my heart I'm hearing or is it hers?

I'm sure she can feel it too, hear it too. I see the darkness in my eyes reflected in hers and blatantly stare at her lips without even trying to fake it or make excuses.

"Hey Q! You guys have the right idea, hiding over here," Santana shouts nearby, running towards us with Brittany in tow.

Gone.

The moment's gone.

Rachel's gone in a flash, unfazed by the moment between us and pulling supplies out of her bag.

_God damn it_. I exhale in frustration and glare at a seemingly innocent Santana.

"What?" she asks loudly, tactlessly.

I throw my hands up in the air in a huff and join Rachel, pulling all sorts of random shit out of these bags.

"Shoo, get out of here," Rachel says, waving me away with her hands.

"Uh, what?" I ask, stepping backwards.

"I'm way more efficient at putting together tents if I do it alone and without extra hands. Even hands as perfect as yours, Quinn," Rachel ends on an affectionate note, and I cough to clear my throat, looking over at a struggling Santana with her tent.

"Alright, I'll go where I'm wanted," I say dramatically with a pout.

I'm almost positive I hear Rachel whisper, "You are always wanted."

I shiver, and I know it's entirely unrelated to the cold weather.

I sit down on the cold earth and pull a Coke out of Brittany's bag, wondering when the last time was that I had such delicious calories. I pop the can and watch as Santana gets progressively angrier at the tent instructions, mumbling every swear word she can think of under her breath. A familiar, sugary carbonated taste envelopes my mouth and I immediately remember why I haven't had soda in years—once you start, you can't stop.

"Put the metal rod…in the stupid fucking slot where it doesn't fit…stupid fucking that's what she said jokes…these mother fucking holes aren't fucking big enough…fuck…shit…damn…bitch—"

The best part of all of this is that behind Santana fumbling around with her one little section, Brittany gracefully hums under her breath and effortlessly puts the tent together without Santana's help or guidance.

This makes Santana all the more determined.

"Baby, you can go sit and have a drink with Q if you want to. I'm really, really good at this," Brittany says with a wide smile and Santana turns redder.

"I don't need—I am perfectly capable—" after one look at Brittany's face she says, "Fine."

Santana plops down on the ground next to me in a huff and pulls another Coke out of Brittany's bag, grumbling about being able to do it without Brittany's help.

We sit back and drink together, watching Brittany go like a work of art. It's not until I turn around towards Rachel and my tent that I have to do a double take and spit my coke all over the place, spraying the ground in front of us.

Tent? This is no ordinary tent; this is the _Taj Mahal_ of tents.

At my shocked response, Santana turns immediately in the same direction and also spews the contents of her can.

"What the—"

I jump up and walk over to Rachel, who is determined to make every inch of our tent perfect.

"Rach, honey, what the hell is this?" I ask in shock, eyeing the massive tent in awe and wondering slightly if I look inside, if it will be the tent the Weasley's used in the _Goblet of Fire _(and that Harry, Hermione and Ron also used in the _Deathly Hallows_), which will include a kitchen and bathroom.

_Unfortunately_, when I look inside it's just an averagely large tent, filled with a blow up mattress, lanterns and mounds of comfy blankets. Now I know what I've been carrying around all morning.

"This, is our comfy home away from home," Rachel says proudly, jumping in front of it proudly with arms outstretched, spanning the length.

I giggle at her and she blushes, frowning slightly and asking, "Do you not like it? What's wrong?"

I shake my head back and forth, still smiling and tell her, "You're just really cute. This is…a bit much, no?"

"You know, you better appreciate it. Otherwise I can kick you out of my big comfy tent and you'll be stuck with the only person who doesn't have a partner…" Rachel trails off with an evil smirk, looking out in the field towards none other than Finn, who appears sorely unhappy while trying to put together his tiny Walmart tent.

"You _wouldn't_," I hiss, taking no pleasure in her smug look.

"Oh? Try me, Ms. Fabray," she teases. Two can play at this game.

"No, I mean, you _actually _wouldn't. Not unless you'd want me to be sleeping with Finn," I respond sardonically, knowing I've instantly won.

"Oh—I—of course I don't, I was merely playing around," Rachel mumbles with a pout, hating to lose.

"I mean there is another option, I could always sleep with Brittany and Santana—"

"NO! You are sleeping with me, Fabray. End of discussion," Rachel growls and throws herself inside our tent.

I chuckle and look through the flap to ask, "Why not? They are my best friends, you know."

"I will not allow you to be sucked into some threesome with your BFF's, Quinn," she answers seriously with a determined look.

I decide to push it and ask, "Why not? What difference does it make to you?"

She gives me a hard, exasperated look and replies, "Everyone knows that as soon as you add sex into the equation, friendships get screwed up."

"But aren't those the best relationships? The ones that start out as friendships?" I ask hopefully, gently prompting her.

"I hardly think you want to be in a triangular, polygamous relationship with Santana and Brittany," she snaps, folding the blanket creases beneath her.

"You're right, I don't. I just like making you jealous," I tease, grinning and backing out of the tent when she looks scandalized.

* * *

Shortly after, Mr. Schue calls for everyone to meet in the center of the field. All of us have spread out in the shape of a circle, rather than have the tents be located next to one another. At the center, he and Ms. Pilsbury gathered materials to start a large fire. Everyone does their best at cooking the hot dogs passed around over the fire, but it becomes such a large production that most gave up and opened their bags of chips and snacks to eat instead.

We seemed to pair off as couples, really. Not that I consider Rachel and I to be a couple, even though we were very obviously _cuddling _underneath 2 blankets. Brittany and Santana were close at my right, Mike and Tina were giggling together about God-knows-what, Kurt was talking to Mercedes while occasionally giving Finn moon eyes (gross) while he, Puck and Artie were deep in conversation about some video game.

The sun sets and underneath our blankets, Rachel was holding on tightly to my hand, gently swiping her thumb over my skin. I could fall asleep in front of this fire, warm with Rachel at my side like this. But I'm too anxious with all of my classmates surrounding me, and especially grossed out by Mr. Schue obviously flirting with Ms. Pilsbury. Thank God they brought two separate tents, if only for appearances. Then, I can at least imagine they're not banging.

"I'll be right back," Rachel whispers and runs back to the tent. I miss her warmth and pull the blankets more tightly around me, watching her return moments later and holding a small bag.

"Let me in," she demands, so I open my arms up in order for her to regain her position next to me under the blanket.

She opens the bag and pulls out none other than my very favorite, Rachel Berry special vegan chocolate chip cookies. It's all that I can do to stop myself from devouring the bag right there and slipping into a food coma.

"You're amazing, you are," I whisper, gnawing on a cookie.

"Don't quote 'Ronald Weasley' to me," Rachel says, unable to fight a small smile.

I choke and ask, "Why not? You love Harry Potter!"

"Well, yes, but I don't really like Ron. Nor do I ship him and Hermione," Rachel explains, munching happily on a cookie of her own.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Santana narrowing her eyes in my direction, particularly at the cookies in between us. Uh oh. The cookie monster is awake.

"What's a 'ship'?" I ask curiously, blocking them from San's view.

"You don't know what a ship is? I thought you were a nerd at heart," she asks incredulously.

"No, I mean, I know what a ship is in terms of a boat. But that didn't make sense in what you said so I assumed you meant it differently," I clarify, watching Santana out of my peripheral vision but focusing on Rachel.

"A ship is when you romantically support two people, usually fictional characters, together. Like, yay! They're 'sailing' in a ship together," Rachel explains.

"Um, okay, so then who do you ship Hermione with?" I ask, going along with this concept.

"Ginny," she answers without hesitation.

"Interesting, I guess I never thought about that," I admit, wondering about the depths of the secret world of fangirling.

"I take it then you don't have a Harry Potter OTP," she says thoughtfully.

"What's an 'OTP'?" I feel as though I'm discussing another language.

"Uh—forget it," Rachel replies, chuckling a bit. I shrug and let it go.

For the first time in a while I look around the fire, jumping slightly when I see Finn creepily staring at me without reservation. I shift my eyes and Mr. Schue is giving Emma such a disgusting, puppy dog look that I'd almost prefer looking at my unnerving ex boyfriend.

Out of nowhere, I'm tackled to the ground and the cookies between us are stolen by Santana.

"Holding out on me, Q?" she asks, popping a delicious cookie into her mouth and moaning in delight.

"Santana! Those are Rachel's," I hiss, trying to pull the bag out of her death grip.

"It's fine, Quinn—"

"See? It's _fine_. Rachel wants to share because we're friends now and they share," Santana explains, smiling with chocolate in her teeth and I laugh.

"S'MORES!" Brittany shouts in excitement as Mr. Schue tosses around some bags of marshmallows and supplies like Santa Claus.

"_Finally_, something that makes this God forsaken trip worthwhile," Kurt groans, lunging towards a chocolate bar.

When Mr. Schue shoots him an angry look, Kurt backtracks and says, "I mean, this amazing camping trip with all my friends just got that much better!"

I laugh loudly at him and Mr. Schue scowls, returning to help Ms. Pilsbury with her S'more. She seems to be having trouble with the concept of eating a marshmallow off of a dirty stick.

Rachel is anxiously biting her lip next to me, watching everyone enjoy their s'mores in delight and watching me roast my own marshmallow.

"Rach, what's wrong?" I ask nervously and she shakes her head.

"Oh, _shit_. These aren't vegan," I say and she nods briefly, watching everyone enviously. I place my stick on the ground.

"If you can't eat them, neither can I," I tell her valiantly and Finn snorts from across the fire.

"Got something to say, pastry boy?" Santana snaps at him and he looks away before she adds, "Didn't think so" and continues eating the s'mores she's made out of two cookies instead of graham crackers.

I never really considered just how protective she is towards me and I feel a surge of affection towards her.

"You can keep the cookies," I tell her with a grin.

"Like I wasn't going to anyway," she replies, but returns the smile.

Rachel still looks incredibly envious and eventually whispers, "Would it be so bad if I just tried one?"

"I dunno Rachel, they aren't my ideals—they're yours. Only you will know if it's going to be a bad thing, you know?" I say delicately, hoping not to offend her or her veganism in any way.

"I would…like to have the full camping experience with you. I think I want one. Can you show me how?" she asks, looking slightly abashed.

"I would _love _to make you a s'more, Rach. And when we get home, we'll get a vegan recipe all ready for your next camping trip," I tell her and pick up a stick, grabbing a fresh marshmallow out of the bag.

Rachel leans her head on my shoulder and watches it brown. She whispers lightly into my ear, "You're the best."

"I know," I say cockily and she laughs, playfully hitting me on the shoulder. When the marshmallow is perfect I place it in between two perfect graham cracker squares and a tiny piece of chocolate.

"Here you go, my lady. One, perfect s'more," I grin and hand it to her, which she sniffs before taking a tiny bite out of. The resulting expression looks a lot like cookie-monster-Santana and I chuckle while she devours the whole thing and asks for another one.

"Only one more, though. This is enough cheating on my vegan diet for a lifetime," she says rather guiltily but satisfied.

I make one for her and myself. When we're done with our chocolaty goodness, there's a tiny drop of melted chocolate on the corner of Rachel's lip. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and gently wipe it off for her with my thumb. She flushes and watches me hesitate before I lick it off my finger.

"I—uh," she chokes out and stands abruptly, "I want to go for a walk."

"Um, okay sure," I say, standing up and following her.

"Don't you two wander off too far!" Mr. Schue yells and I wave him off.

We walk together through the trees behind our tent and I sense something is wrong with Rachel. We push on, however, silently and eventually reach an openly to a very large lake.

"We should go skinny dipping," she says lightheartedly.

"Yeah, okay, and freeze to death," I quip and she laughs, looking at me warmly.

This look is different than the others and I feel a strange sense of foreboding.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asks wistfully, looking out at the dark waters reflecting the moon.

"Yeah," I mumble, looking only at her. _She's _beautiful; the lake's _okay_.

"Quinn, I—"

I panic and cut her off, "We should be heading back."

She looks disappointed but nods, slowly walking back into the woods. I mentally chastise myself for blowing the moment and follow her in until she traps me up against a tree.

And here we are again, playing this game of cat and mouse. When I want her, she's afraid and when she wants me, I pull away in fear.

This is different, though. We're alone out here and there's no one to see us, no one to catch us but the expanse of darkness and the occasional woodland critter. Nobody who could tell, nobody who could gossip about Quinn Fabray having _so many feelings _for Rachel Berry, just the two of us with our short pants of breath and light tuffs of smoke from exhaling.

"Quinn," she whispers softly, hot breath closing in on my lips. She places her hands on my hips uncertainly, as though waiting for me to push them off.

As if I would ever do that.

As if I'd ever want to feel anything other than her hands on me.

And in this moment, I know that's the truth. I want her to touch me, kiss me, _feel _me.

I close my eyes and lean forward, encouraging her. I gently toss my arms around her neck to secure her closeness, as I'm worried she'll run.

"Rachel," I say huskily, leaning forward and feeling her breath hitch slightly, my lips tingling from sensing their proximity to Rachel's.

Another centimeter should do it. Our lips are practically touching when Santana yells, "Quinn!" and Rachel jumps away from me, leaving me alone against the tree.

"Yeah, what?" I respond in extreme disappointment, furious with Santana for cockblocking me so many times.

"You disappeared right when Mr. Schue and Ms. Pilsbury skipped off to bed. _Separately_," Santana snickers and continues, "It's time for some strip poker!"

"Okay, we'll be right there," I say dejectedly, looking over at Rachel who looks mortified.

"We? You're with Berry?" Santana asks curiously and looking around in the dark for her.

"Why else would we both have been absent from the camp fire at the _same time_?" I snap at her and her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"I'll meet you guys back there," Rachel says in a low voice and pushes past us to walk alone.

"Wait, what exactly was going on here?" Santana asks suspiciously, eyes narrowed at me.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," I admit sadly, wishing it did. Thinking about how I could _almost _taste her lips, the lingering sensation of her breath still tingling.

"Oh—oh my God. Oh fuck. Tell me I didn't," Santana says, horrified and stepping backwards.

"Santana, don't," I reply, shaking my head and motioning to leave the woods.

"No! No, tell me I didn't do it. Tell me I didn't cockblock you," she pleads.

"I can't," I whisper truthfully.

"Oh, no! No! I've turned into my worst nightmare! The cockblocker, oh fuck, I have to fix this. Berry get your ass back here _right now_ and make out with Quinn!" Santana shouts loudly and I cover her mouth with my hand.

"Will you _be quiet_ and cut it out?" I hiss, waiting with my hand on her mouth for good measure to make sure she's done yelling.

Santana mutters under her breath the whole way back to the fire about how sorry she is and determined to get Rachel and I to hook up. Only, I'm not sure I want to anymore. Not if she's so unsure about me that she's going to keep running away or worse, being mortified at the thought of someone seeing us together. I mean sure, I feel that way but that's because I'm not out or whatever. _Am I not good enough for Rachel after all_?

I sit down next to her and she smiles at me in a way that doesn't quite reach her eyes. We maintain the same position underneath the blankets together as we did before, but farther apart and with distance between us. Distance that easily spells out _we almost kissed and now it's awkward_.

"Alright, ladies! Thank you for joining us. It's time for my favorite part of the evening: strip poker," Puck greets us and deals out the cards. "I've mixed in two decks so we can all play together rather than taking shifts. Whoever loses, _strips_," he explains naughtily, looking directly at me as he says it.

Rachel's frown becomes more pronounced and she glares at him intensely, shifting a little bit closer to me.

_Damn, protective Rachel is incredibly sexy._ I almost laugh at her but control it, out of fear that she'll move away again.

After a few rounds, Rachel and I have shed our blankets, sweaters and shoes—we're left shivering in the most basic necessities, pants and shirts. Thankfully, we're not the only ones. Poor Artie and Tina are naked, the rest not far behind. Santana is clearly winning, wearing not only her own clothes but also the warmth of her losers as trophies around her. Tina's bra is being worn on her head as a crown. Sometimes, the immaturity astounds me. That, and the level of her smugness. Her ego knows no ceiling.

When I lose the next round and have no choice to take my shirt off, Rachel squirms next to me before yelling, "No!"

"Uh, Rachel, I lost. It's my turn," I tell her, watching Santana avidly look away and tries unsuccessfully to grab the attention of everyone else in order to give us privacy. Bless her.

"Nope. Not happening. Nobody here deserves to see you," she declares with a blazing look, daring anyone around her to argue.

"Except apparently you," Finn scoffs from across the fire.

"Finessa, that s'mores stick you've been holding is not the only thing on you that can be crushed," Santana warns and he shuts up.

"I guess I fold, guys," I say with a mystified expression, scratching at the back of my head and looking at a triumphant Rachel. They all 'boo'—mostly Puck. Finn only rolls his eyes, and then looks warily at Santana to make sure she didn't notice.

As fate would have it, Rachel loses next and we've reached a stalemate.

"No way, if I can't strip neither can you," I tell her, pulling her shirt down at the hem.

"That's different, you're perfect and I'm—"

"_Perfect_," I breath, licking my lips and imagining her naked. Something I don't want _anyone _here to see. Or anyone else, ever.

We gaze longingly at each other, or at least that's the best way to describe it. It's not until Santana loudly clears her throat that we jump apart in embarrassment.

"Time for bed?" she asks me, standing up and outstretching her hand to help me up.

"Yes, please," I tell her, grabbing our clothes and blankets from Santana and leaving a bewildered glee group behind to play some more and catch pneumonia all on their own.

We sit in an awkward silence in the tent until Rachel turns the lantern out and we go under the ton of blankets she has provided us.

She shivers and I ask, "Are you still cold?"

"Mhm," she admits sadly, curled into a ball.

I hold my breath and shift towards her, wrapping my arm around her waist. At first, she hesitates, before pulling me tighter around her and intertwining our fingers together. I breathe in the hair at the nape of her neck and exhale loudly in contentedness, which she shares as she's no longer shivering. Caught up in the comfort and warmth we bring one another, despite the cold air outside, we fall asleep quickly.

Sometime later I hear in a foggy distance, "Get back to your tent, Orca," but think nothing of it and fall back to sleep.

* * *

We awaken the next morning and attempt to make a messy breakfast of eggs and bacon. Suffice to say, I was eating some vegan granola bars with Rachel. With nothing else to do, Mr. Schue begins to brainstorm with us possibilities for Regionals, which is approaching in a couple of weeks.

After we spend some time singing different songs and exchanging ideas, arguing and debating about what's most important and who gets what solo (which I fought tooth and nail suggesting that Rachel should have _every _solo), we head for the bus much earlier than intended. Everyone was discouraged from the arguing, from hunger and mostly from the cold.

With a collective, "Thank _God_," from everyone in the group, we reached the bus and finally had some semblance of true warmth when Mr. Schue turned the heat all the way up.

Rachel and I sat comfortably in our seats, her head on my shoulder and mine atop of hers. Santana is making it a point not to turn around and disturb us, blatantly yelling, "_Not now_!" when Brittany says she wants to talk to me.

I can't help but wonder if she's going to act like this until Rachel and I finally kiss.

_Until_.

The thought brings me a chill and Rachel looks up at me with loving eyes asking, "Are you cold?"

I shake my head and tell her truthfully, "No Rachel, not in the slightest."

I think about the prospect of Rachel and I finally being alone, two hours outside of town where no one can interrupt us next weekend for _Bloc Party_. The thought makes me nervous, as well as excited—and a little bit scared that I'm really not good enough for her. After a few minutes I decide to ask her, "Are you excited for our concert trip next weekend?"

"You mean am I excited to see one of my favorite bands live with my favorite person?" she asks rhetorically and looks up at me beaming, while I chuckle at her.

"Well, when you put it that way…" I grin.

"I'm excited for us to be there together… and especially to be two full hours away from Santana or anyone else we know," she says suggestively and a light blush grows on her cheeks.

_Gulp_.

* * *

**A/N: I'm ashamed to say I got my little Spanish line from Google. "****¡****Lárgate Finn!" is supposed to equate to a very rude way of saying, "Get out of here, Finn!"**

**The Bloc Party show is next weekend followed by Thanksgiving with the Berry's.**


	12. Better Than Heaven

**I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. I will still be posting a Thanksgiving chapter after this one, even though I'm late.**

**Go listen to "Better Than Heaven" by Bloc Party.**

**To the Anon reviewer who read my story from an iPhone while powerless from Sandy and still found time to review: rock on. I hope you weathered the storm alright (as well as everyone else).  
**

**Enjoy.**

**Chapter Twelve: Better Than Heaven**

I wait patiently on the creaking first step of the Berry's front porch, watching the sun set around me and feeling the cool November breeze brushing against my face. I close my eyes and breathe in the fundamental scent that _is_ winter, that fireside smell as leaves from the large trees blow off and whirl around me in blazing reds and bright golds. I sigh, peacefully, wondering if this is how Wordsworth felt taking in the nature around him. To him, God was in nature alone and if you went to nature and believed, it could heal you.

But I don't need to be healed, not really. I need to relax and be less anxious. Anxious to be alone with Rachel, 2 hours away from our home-life distractions and the very real reality that we've been busy. Camping last weekend with Rachel was great but I was really starting to want more, you know?

I felt the itch under my skin, begging me to scratch it and…kiss Rachel.

"Ready to go?" Rachel asks, lightly bouncing up and down and shaking her keys at me.

"I've _been _ready, Rach. I was ready an hour ago, when you barged out here in a fit of excitement, before deciding you weren't wearing the right outfit. I was ready 20 minutes ago, when you repeated the process," I reply in an amused voice, finding it hard to be angry with such an adorable girl.

"Okay, okay. I get it. I've been a little over excited," she says in a nonchalant voice.

I raise my eyebrow at her and she huffs, "Fine. I've been a pain. Let's go!"

She pulls me to my feet and I sway backwards, thinking I'm going to fall until she grabs hold of me by wrapping an arm around my waist and steadies me.

"You okay?" she whispers, holding me close to her with concerned eyes. I gaze down at her parted lips and gulp, forgetting to reply altogether.

She clears her throat and pulls away from me, jumping down the front porch steps and beaming at me.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I tell her, grinning at her silliness.

She skips down the sidewalk to her car and opens the passenger door, saying, "Your car awaits, my lady."

I straighten up and glide down the path like a lady with my head held high and when entering the car, I reply, "Thank you, kind sir."

Rachel snorts and closes the door behind me, running around to her side of the car and setting up the GPS.

A smooth, seductive voice says, "_Two hours and four minutes to reach your destination._"

"Thanks, Jessica," Rachel says happily and scrolls through her iPod to find a particular playlist for the ride.

"_Jessica_?" I ask incredulously, eyeing the GPS with contempt.

"Haven't you ever seen Jessica Rabbit? Hello sexy," Rachel purrs.

"You named your GPS after Jessica Rabbit?" I scoff, frowning at the little computer and fighting the sudden urge to throw it out the window.

"She's got that kind of voice," Rachel winks and presses play, putting her hand on the stick and pausing to ask, "Are you ready for the best night of your life?"

As a familiar _Bloc Party_ song fills the speakers of her Mustang, I can't help but feel that she's right—it's going to be life changing.

* * *

"Well, now that we've listened to every song from the last two albums, I'd say we're ready," I say, scrolling back to repeat my favorite one for the third time.

"'Better Than Heaven', good choice," Rachel says, nodding in approval and shifting her eyes towards the GPS to find her next turn.

"There's just something about it that gets me every time," I explain, air drumming and continuing, "I think it's the build up. The whole song just gives you the sense that something bigger is coming, something even more awesome than before. And then when it finally hits it's like something inside you lets go. I know this sounds stupid…" I trail off, increasing the volume on my new favorite song and trying not to be embarrassed by my tangent.

Rachel stops at a stoplight and looks at me with wide eyes, new eyes as though seeing me clearly for the first time. She says, "That's _exactly _what it's like."

I look up and stop air drumming as the break down hits the speakers, making eye contact with Rachel and feeling the hair at the back of my neck stand up. The familiar itch grows under my skin, and I involuntarily lean forward as the electric guitar fills my ears. The car behind us honks incessantly and our trance is broken when Rachel jerks the car forward at the green light we hadn't noticed.

The song ends, and the GPS sounds throughout the car, "_You have reached your destination_."

"Thanks, Jessica," Rachel says, voice quavering and taking a quick right to find parking.

"There's a lot over there," I tell her, pointing in the direction before us and filling the tense silence.

"Perfect," Rachel grins, tightly, and turns in to take a ticket from some dude wearing a large, golden chain around his neck who merely grumbles at us.

She puts the car in park and looks at me with a mixture of emotions on her face, asking in a low voice, "You ready?"

Her nerves are visible, and more than anything else, more than I even want to kiss her, I want her to have fun. This night is about her, after all.

"Rach, this is gonna be great," I tell her confidently, beaming at her and squeezing her hand.

She smiles at me brightly and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and walks out of the car.

"You brought the tickets, right?" she asks me, looking at my purse.

"Of course I did. Though, it wouldn't hurt you to carry a purse once in a while," I say, gesturing to the leather iPhone/wallet combo in her back pocket.

"You're joking, right? I gave up carrying purses years ago. It'd be weird now," Rachel says, frowning thoughtfully at my bag.

Suddenly, as we walk down the street towards the LC Pavilion, I want more than anything to take her hand. I look around, noting that there's no one here we know—that everyone is essentially our age and heading to the same place. Straight couples, gay couples, stoners, and punk rockers surround us and I've never felt so _comfortable_ and free.

I take Rachel's hand and intertwine our fingers, walking with the crowd and feeling safe, as nobody looks at us any different. Rachel absolutely beams at me and pulls me into the line that begins down the block.

"Doors are opening now, perfect," she says, standing on her tiptoes and looking over people's heads.

"We literally made it just in time. Ugh, _stupid perfect Jessica_," I mumble and scrunch my eyebrows together.

Rachel laughs loudly and pulls me by the hand as the line moves inward, into a dark and smoky building with a spiraling staircase and multiple levels. We follow the staircase and Rachel keeps bouncing with excitement, mentioning how she wishes we were 21 and she could buy me a drink at one of the 4 bars we've seen already.

Finally, after I've lost count on how many flights of stairs we've climbed, we're pushed into a very large room with a stage at the front. Now, most people are running to the front to get as close as they can get. I try to follow them, but Rachel looks around intently and pulls me in a different direction.

"Come on," she says, pulling me towards the side staircase, which has so far been avoided.

"But Rach, don't you want to get close?" I ask hesitantly, looking back at the crowd.

"Trust me, Quinn," she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up with her to a balcony area with yet _another _bar. The unfortunate X's on my hand make it impossible for me to get a drink.

Rachel leaves me for a moment and asks a security guard if it's alright to be in this area. He nods and appears to be telling her something positive, because she beams and thanks him profusely before returning to me.

"This area is totally within our limits, the VIP area is the opposite balcony to this. Thankfully, we got here early enough that people haven't noticed it yet," she explains to me and walks to the very far end of the balcony…which is directly over the stage, giving us a clear view looking down.

"Wow, this is really awesome," I comment breathlessly, incredibly pleased at our view from above.

"Yeah, no mosh pits for you," Rachel says, nodding in agreement.

"What's a 'mosh pit'?" I ask curiously, tilting my head at her.

"It's—what? How do you not know what a mosh pit is?" she asks, dumbfounded, and begins to laugh at me.

I blush and quip, "Well, excuse me for never going to a rock show before."

She replies, "Oh, Quinn. I'm sorry, but I didn't realize you've never seen a show before. Mosh pits are like…pits of death in the middle of the floor. As soon as the show starts you'll see what I'm talking about. Everyone pushes each other and hits each other, it's supposed to be fun."

"How is that supposed to be fun?" I ask, looking back and forth between the people arriving down below and Rachel.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it—then again, you really only need to try it once and it's definitely not for everyone," she says, looking at me up and down and implying that I couldn't do it.

"I could totally mosh pit," I tell her, pouting in determination until she bursts out laughing at me and I shove her.

"You could totally _mosh_, Quinn, not mosh pit," she explains in between laughs and clutching at her side, adding, "A mosh pit is what it is as a whole. The people doing it are engaging in moshing."

"Ugh, whatever," I sigh angrily and roll my eyes, leaning up against the balcony and eyeing the bright clock on the wall. "Wow, we still have two hours until they're supposed to go on, do you want to go do something?" I ask Rachel.

"The opening show will be on in like 45 minutes, so that should entertain us some. Trust me, you don't want to go anywhere. A prime spot like this will be gone in no time," she says, gesturing to our spot over the stage.

A thought occurs to me and I say, "I'll be right back."

Rachel frowns sadly and asks, "But where are you going?"

Her pouting pulls at something inside me and before I go I lean forward, feel her breath hitch and kiss her on the cheek. "I'll be _right back_," I repeat, smiling lightly at her and walking away, committing to memory the flushed expression on her face.

Now, where's the merch? I read online that shows like this always have an overly expensive merchandise table. Good thing I removed part of my car fund and came prepared. I walk through the corridors and down the halls, through crowds of people waiting to get drinks at the various bars. Finally, I spot a large crowd of people surrounding _nonalcoholic_ goods, with t-shirts and CDs lining a small area of way over-priced crap that I could buy online for half as much.

So naturally I pick up two t-shirts, a vinyl record and a hoodie, buying them all.

A tall, attractive-looking guy with a muscular body, blue eyes and white teeth smirks at me and says, "I didn't expect to see someone this sexy here tonight."

I roll my eyes at him and find myself completely unfazed, totally uninterested in him. I walk by him with my bag of goodies, determined to find Rachel—the girl I _am _interested in.

He reaches out and grabs me lightly on the arm, asking, "Where are you going, cutie? Can't I buy you a drink?"

Exasperated, I hold up the back of both of my hands, showing him the black X's marking me as underage and shout over the crowd that has formed between us, "I've gotta get back to my _girlfriend_, sorry!"

He looks at me in shock, perhaps debating whether or not he should be turned on or upset about being rejected.

I gulp, hoping that Rachel never finds out that I referred to her as my girlfriend.

When I find our balcony again, as Rachel predicted, it is completely packed. I push my way through to the front and decide that I could never enjoy moshing, I'm claustrophobic enough as it is.

When I spot her, my heart jumps and I relax, pushing my way past the last person and rejoining her side.

"Quinn! I thought I'd lost you!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around me and holding me tightly against her at the front of the crowd.

"Never, you're stuck with me. I told you I'd be back," I explain, and smirk while holding up my bag to her, adding, "I brought gifts."

"Oh!" Rachel jumps in excitement and one by one goes through the merch I bought her, neglecting to tell her that it cost me a small fortune. Bloodsucking vampires, that's what they are.

"Oh, Quinn. You got us matching t-shirts," she says fondly, holding them both up and throwing her arms around me again.

"Easy, Rachel. This is your night, you know? I just wanted everything to be great," I say, lightly rubbing her back.

"Everything is great as long as I'm with you," she confesses, blushing and looking away as I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

* * *

Eventually, after standing here against the balcony and waiting for what seems like ages, playing with our cell phones and trying to take pictures of ourselves against the darkness, the opening band joins the stage.

"Hello, everyone. We are _The Drums_," the lead singer says into the microphone and the people who know of them in the audience go wild.

Rachel and I cheer along with the crowd, although I confess that I've never heard of them before.

"Neither have I," Rachel says, shrugging and waiting to see if they'll be any good.

And while the lead singer is certainly…strange, and energetic, and the instrumentals are pretty good…I absolutely hated them.

"Holy shit, this is awful," Rachel shouts into my ear over the loud music, beating me to it, and I chuckle at her while nodding.

"I think there's another band coming on after this one, no?" I ask, looking at the clock again.

She shakes her head and yells, "No, we have to listen to this crap for a full hour."

And sure enough, as time progressed and songs passed, they kept on going and each song seemed worse than the one before.

When they finally say goodnight, Rachel breathes a sigh of relief and exhales, "Thank _God_ that's over."

"They weren't that bad," I say in their defense, and when she raises an eyebrow at me in disbelief I laugh and admit, "Okay, yeah, they sucked."

Rachel grins and leans both her arms against the balcony, watching the set up crew intently as they pull out all of _the Drums_' instruments and setting up those that belong to the one and only _Bloc Party_.

"Excited?" I ask, nudging her with my arm and noticing how even more people than before seem to be piling both into the crowd below us and on the balcony behind us, shoving us close together.

"What do you think?" she replies, looking at me with the widest smile and is _still _bouncing in her spot.

I laugh at her and link our arms together, bouncing with her in admitted excitement as well.

The lights go out and everybody cheers, screaming at the top of their lungs. Rachel takes her arm from mine and cups her mouth, shouting and howling into the darkness. I take one look at her and join her, whistling and cheering.

Certain lights on stage go on and out come the members of Rachel's favorite band. One by one they go to their respective instruments, the lead singer, Kele Okereke grabbing a guitar and saying in a low voice into the microphone, "How's it going, Ohio?"

Despite his quiet coolness, everyone shouts even louder, deafening my ears.

Rachel screams and laughs happily, seeming happier than she's _ever been_.

Someone shoves me from behind and Rachel immediately growls, wrapping an arm around my waist and holding me close to her. After a moment of standing our ground the people who tried to push through us move farther down the balcony to try somewhere else.

I close my eyes at the touch, feeling her thumb lightly caressing my side and butterflies erupting in my stomach.

They begin playing with a new song, '3x3', off the album I like the least, but enjoy hearing all the same. The volume is way louder than necessary, filling my ears and if I'm not careful and tilt my head closer to Rachel's, it's so loud it creates a deafening noise.

Rachel rocks out, _hard_, in her spot—jumping around and head banging.

I, on the other hand, am watching a crowd of boys in a mosh pit below pause to light something which quickly rises and fills the balcony with smoke: _marijuana_.

After they smoke, and a second song ends, Kele says to the audience, "Thank you. I can tell you must be enjoying yourselves, I can smell the reefer in here."

Everyone goes wild, and he shouts, "Come on, Ohio—you can do better. We did not come back from the dead _for this_!"

They play "Banquet" off of an older album and Rachel sings along to every word, shouting them at the top of her lungs into the balcony below.

I take this opportunity to sing along with her, moving against her and head banging with her. This makes her laugh, and at the end of the song she leans her head against my shoulder and breathes heavily against my neck.

This is nice, and warm, and we continue laughing, perhaps slightly under the influence from second hand _reefer_.

* * *

They play through their set list, pausing occasionally to say thank you or tell a small joke. The crowd below has gone to full out violence and crowd surfing, pissing off every single member of security as they aggressively grab an idiot flailing around in the air to place them safely on the ground.

When they go off stage, everyone shouts and yells after them to get them to come out and give us an encore. They come out and play two more of their new songs, as well as two more of their old, before giving us a final goodnight and leaving the stage. The lights go out, and everyone, including Rachel and myself are begging them for just _one more_.

When they finally come back on, for that one more song, something changes in the atmosphere around me. I hold my breath and feel the hair on my neck and arms stand up—chills reverberating throughout my body.

I knew what was coming: the beginning to "Better Than Heaven" floats through the room and hits me like a tidal wave, filling me, moving me.

When Rachel turns to look at me, she's wearing the brightest smile and intertwines our fingers. The sound pulses through me, raging against the beating of my own heart.

I see her and everything else fades away except for the build up of my favorite song, and build up of my own emotions.

It's just me, and Rachel, and there's nobody to stop us now. Nobody to interfere, or tear our gazes away from one another. Her eyes are saying, "_I'm waiting,_" and it's all I can do to remember to breathe.

And when they stop singing, when the instrumental part hits and the build up reaches it's climax, I find it impossible to do anything other than lean forward. I hesitate, briefly, right before I crash my lips against her and feel a moan escape my throat.

I run my fingers up her neck and through her hair, feeling her soft, wonderful lips move against my own. And there's no battle of dominance here, no tongue being shoved down my throat or scratchy beard against my face. This is _Rachel, _and her lips are perfect. She wraps both arms around my waist, pulling me closer to her and deepening the kiss—awakening something inside me I have never felt before.

This time, as I lightly nibble on her lower lip, I feel a moan escape her lips and manage to hear it even with the incredibly loud cheering and music, although that's all somewhere in the background now.

I hear her moan as loud as anything else, and I know I will never forget it.

As the song ends, our passionate kissing slows, coming to an abrupt stop as the band removes themselves from the stage for the last time. We lean our foreheads against each other, breathing heavily. I keep my eyes closed as panic fills me, panic over finally kissing Rachel and what that means for us _now_.

"Quinn," Rachel says softly, removing her hands from my waist and lightly caressing my cheek. My eyes open quickly and find her loving expression, waiting for her next move.

"Follow me, quickly," she says, holding my hand tightly and weaving us through the crowd and to the exit.

I feel frustrated, wondering, _that's it?_ However, I continue to follow her regardless and she pulls me down the street and around to the back of the building where the buses are.

"Rach, I don't think we're allowed to be back here," I whisper nervously, looking at the guards ahead of us.

"Nonsense, it's tradition for fans after a show to wait for the band at the back door to get some stuff signed and say hello. You still got your ticket?" she asks, fumbling around for hers and taking her vinyl record out from the bag.

"Um, yeah," I say, pulling it out of my back pocket and trying not to be disappointed by her ignoring our epic kiss. Or at least, I thought it was epic. Life changing. It was life changing, wasn't it? Suddenly, I'm not so sure.

When other people join us, eventually a security guard and his flunkies come over to us to say that it's unsafe for us to be there while they're loading the buses and that we have to leave.

Rachel confidently calls their bluff and stands her ground with a few disobedient others as the rest of the crowd dissipates.

The same guard returns and says, "VIP members only can remain in this line."

Still, we remain, and I whisper, "Rachel, we should go."

"I am not leaving until I'm forcibly removed," she states matter-of-factly and intertwines our fingers.

Fortunately, the people next to us are very friendly and funny. We make fun of the guards and how serious they are for another half hour until they try and make us show them our VIP badges.

"So we have to leave the line, big deal," Rachel says in a huff and simply crosses to the opposite side of the busses, literally 10 feet away from where we were just standing.

I giggle at her stubbornness, and I'm glad the friendly couple joined us in our rebellion.

"Seriously, guys, you should just go. They're not coming out," the guard says to us and we still don't move.

"Yeah, okay, so they're just going to stay inside all night," Rachel says and the guy next to us laughs.

"Well, where are they going, then?" he shouts and the guard mumbles, "They're not coming out."

We laugh at his dumb ploy to get us to leave, maintaining our ground and waiting for a good hour, making jokes at the guard's expense.

A white van drives up behind the buses and we discuss how they could use it as a getaway van because we're such dangerous fans—the whole _four _of us.

"Maybe they'll take a helicopter off the roof, like a _Left 4 Dead _getaway," Rachel jokes, pointing at a helicopter flying by.

"No, no, they're going to fit themselves into one of those giant instrument cases," the guy behind us says, laughing, and pointing at the crew loading very large black boxes into the buses.

The VIP group leaves the room and the owner of the LC Pavilion approaches us, saying, "They're not coming out guys. You're allowed to wait here but you'll be doing it for nothing. I don't know what's going on or when they're leaving."

This dude is like 5'6" and trying to overcompensate with his look. Gold watch, hair slicked back, leather loafers and hipster rolled jeans at the bottom. I stifle a laugh while looking at him and when he walks away I say loudly, "Yeah, okay. You own the place and you don't even know what's going on."

Finally, _finally_ after two hours of waiting, at 12:30 in the morning, new guards approach us saying that the band is coming out and will be giving us autographs but no pictures are allowed.

I laugh smugly at the angry looking guard who insisted that they would never be leaving the building, while the small group of us is filled with renewed excitement.

One by one, each member comes out and says hello to us individually, signing our belongings and shaking our hands. Rachel delves into her life story with Kele, telling him how their music changed her life.

"Seriously though, everything you've ever done has been my inspiration. Your music has helped me through some of the hardest times of my life, and I was just so ecstatic when I found out that you had gotten back together," she explains, and while I was so nervous that he would ignore her, he proved me gladly wrong and listened intently to everything she was saying.

"Quinn, here, bought me these tickets for my birthday and I have to say they were the best gift ever. Seriously, amazing show," she tells him, shaking his hand after he passes her vinyl around for the other band members to sign in sharpie.

"Quinn—is this your girlfriend?" he asks politely with his English accent, shaking my hand.

Rachel chokes and I look at her amused before answering for her, "She's uh, very important to me."

I hold out my ticket for him to sign, and he passes it around to the rest of the ground while I shake their hands and individually thank them for killing it and silently for making Rachel so happy (and being the soundtrack to our first kiss).

"I'm glad you guys enjoyed the show," he says, before moving on to the next people in our small line, which had grown.

Rachel hugs her newly signed vinyl and I'm certain she's going to frame it as soon as possible.

She leaps into my arms and kisses me on the cheek, whispering, "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, _thank you_."

I chuckle and pat her on the back, "Anytime."

I intertwine our fingers and we walk slowly back to the car in a euphoric state, sharing our favorite parts of the show with one another.

When we reach the car she asks thoughtfully, "You know what this means, don't you?"

I stop, anxious about what she's referring to. Surely not the kiss…?

"What, Rach?" I ask, my hand hovering over the car door handle.

"Have I told you lately how much I love it when you call me that?" she asks, winking at me.

"Yes, goof. Now what does this mean?" I ask, nervously, and ignoring her blatant attempt at flirting.

"This means I'm going to have to work to make your birthday twice as awesome as mine," she says, grinning at me and entering her car.

"Yeah, well, lucky for you there's still a lot of time to worry about that," I reply, buckling my seatbelt and resting my head, closing my eyes.

Unlike the pre-gaming on the way here, she puts on a soft playlist that almost lulls me to sleep.

Jessica, however, never stops being an irritation.

* * *

"Food!" Rachel exclaims suddenly, pulling me out of a sleepy haze.

"What?" I ask, heart racing against my chest and wondering where I am.

"I'm starving and there's a Taco Bell," Rachel explains, grinning sheepishly.

"Rachel, you're a vegan," I tell her, wondering if she got hit in the head at the show when I wasn't watching.

"Quinn," she says, giggling, before reaching out and smoothing out the messy sleep hair at the back of my head. She continues, "It's not impossible to find vegan food at a fast food restaurant. You just have to know what you're looking for."

Intrigued, I watch her as we pull through the drive through and she orders for herself, "Can I please have a Seven Layer Burrito without cheese or sour cream and some cinnamon twists?"

The person behind the speaker is speaking too low for us to understand, so we just assume they've heard.

"Quinn, would you like something?" Rachel asks, looking at me oddly when I realize that I've been watching her so intensely I've forgotten to _think_.

God, what has happened to me?

I ask for the first thing that comes to mind, "Uh—yeah—can I please get um, some nachos?"

Rachel rolls her eyes and says, "Can we also get some nachos and an XXL burrito with guacamole? Thanks."

"Rachel, why would you do that?" I ask, knowing I'll look like a fatass eating that in front of her.

"Because you're hungry and being ridiculous. My girl needs to eat," Rachel replies without hesitation or shame.

_My girl_.

Rachel doesn't seem to be reading into it as much as I am, and slowly I begin to worry if she's even interested in me at all.

Then again, she did just call me her girl.

And she did kiss me back.

The thought makes my stomach flop. When she pulls around and pays for our fattening taco goodness, we pull into one of the million empty parking spots, as it's 2 in the morning, and devour our food. She was right, I was _hungry_.

Driving the rest of the way home, I continued to remain awake. I took out my phone to check it for the first time all night and noticed that Santana texted me multiple times.

**Santana: **Bitch, where you at?

**Santana: **Oh God, are you with Berry?

**Santana: **Isn't that stupid concert tonight? You know, the one for losers?

**Santana: **YOU'RE NOT TRYING TO FUCK ARE YOU?

**Santana: **Wait, shit, if you are I'm so sorry I'm not trying to cockblock you.

**Santana: **That was not a cockblock, either. I'm apologizing for potential cockblocks.

**Santana: **I'm sorry for the last 6 potential cockblocks, and this seventh one.

An hour later…

**Santana: **I can't be cockblocking you if you're not even paying attention to me.

**Santana: **I am going to kill you when you get here for not answering me.

**Santana: **Brit and I are going to bed, I've left you a key under the doormat. Bitch.

I laugh loudly at the texts and Rachel looks at me curiously, waiting for me to explain. However, there is no explaining Santana and I just shake my head at her, saying, "Santana."

Rachel deems that an adequate response and lifts her hand, debating something internally, before nervously placing it on my knee. I smile at how cute she is and lace our fingers together, gently rubbing my thumb against her hand. I sigh and lean back until the night unfortunately ends and we reach Santana's house, as this is where I told my parents I was spending the night.

I nervously look around for Santana, worried she'll interrupt us. Then again, the awkward silence is killing me, so I'm also worried that she won't.

"Thank you," Rachel eventually whispers, squeezing my hand.

"Please, stop thanking me," I say, painfully looking away from her and accepting that she's never going to acknowledge what happened between us.

"Quinn, about what happened," she starts, making me so nervous I feel as though I may throw up.

"No, Rach, forget it. It doesn't matter," I say, feeling sick to my stomach.

She yanks her hand away from me and says angrily, "What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

She gets out of the car and walks to the other side, opening my door and gesturing for me to get out.

I take a deep breath and grab my bag, leaning against her car. I tell her, "Rachel, I understand if you don't feel the same way. Obviously, I have some things I need to work out—"

Her lips taste even better the second time, and feel just as soft. My bag slips to the ground as I put my arms back around her neck, pulling her close to me until she has me flushed up against the car. I feel her warmth through her clothing and my heart racing, as well as her heart. Fireworks are exploding all around me.

The kiss deepens quickly, and her tongue lightly caresses mine. This sensation is literally like nothing I've ever felt before, not by anyone I have ever kissed. And I honestly don't care if that's because she's a girl, or just because it's Rachel, but I'd be happy just kissing her…forever.

The thought freaks me out and I freeze up against her, causing her to stop kissing me but maintain the closeness. "Quinn, what's wrong? Of course I feel the same way, how could I not?" she asks, looking at me with an expression full of worry and hope.

After what feels like hours, I quietly admit, "I'm scared."

"I want us to take this slow, Quinn," Rachel says, rubbing her finger across exposed skin at my waist and giving me goose bumps. I hear some leaves rustle nearby and wonder if there's a stray cat around.

I think about how intensely she made me feel while kissing me, how I wanted nothing more than to keep doing it and keep touching her, in order to quell the growing heat inside me. The heat I have never felt before her.

"How slow is _slow_, exactly?" I whisper mischievously and move to kiss her again while she smirks and leans forward.

"_Ow_! I told you not to move!" Santana hisses in the dark somewhere.

"But San, the bush is poking me," Brittany replies loudly and a light flashes in our direction.

"No! Don't shine the flashlight that way!" Santana whispers harshly and the light disappears.

Rachel actually chuckles as she steps back, away from me.

"Oh for the love of—_Santana_!" I shout and she immediately stands up with Brittany from behind a bush.

I place my hands on my hips and frown at her, when she asks, "Oh hey guys, what's up?"

"Don't give me that, we know you were spying," I say angrily, grabbing Rachel's hand and keeping her from continuing to inch away from us.

"Spying? No, no, absolutely not. We were…camping," Santana lies and even Brittany snorts.

"Really, baby? Thanks for the support," Santana grumbles, rolling her eyes.

"Why would anyone camp behind a bush unless you're Harry Potter trying to hear the news from under a window?" she replies, and Rachel beams at her.

I frown and turn towards Rachel while Santana and Brittany continue to argue.

"It looks like our night is over," I admit, sadly.

"It was the best night of my life, Quinn," Rachel says, sincerely.

"Mine, too," I whisper quietly, leaning forward.

"Holy fuck! Are you guys going to kiss? Are you finally kissing now?" Santana shouts at us, causing us to jump apart.

I mouth C-O-C-K-B-L-O-C-K at her and she winces.

We sigh and hug each other tightly; Rachel kisses me lightly on the cheek before getting in the drivers seat.

"I'll text you when I get home," Rachel says after rolling down the window.

"Drive safely," I mumble, and before anyone can interrupt me I dart forward and give her a quick, tender kiss.

"Whoa, how am I supposed to drive safely if I'm drunk?" Rachel asks, totally flushed.

"Get out of her, dork," I tell her, but grin at her cheesiness nonetheless.

She winks and speeds off, leaving Santana, Brittany and myself in her wake.

After a moment I look at Santana irritably and ask, "Why couldn't you just watch from a window like a _normal_ person?"

* * *

**Next: Thanksgiving**


	13. Thankful

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, everybody! I know, I know, I suck. I got so wrapped up in enjoying my break—I went to San Diego with my girlfriend and truly had a blast.**

**I still have every intention of writing holiday chapters so I hope the magic behind them isn't lost in the new year.**

**Two paragraphs are in past tense. I did it on purpose because it felt right.**

**Warning: Douchebag Russell is afoot.**

**Chapter Thirteen: Thankful**

"Good morning, beautiful," Rachel purrs into my ear through the receiver on my phone.

"_Mmm_," I moan delightfully, whispering in a raspy voice, "I love waking up to your calls."

I shift upwards on the bed, creating a slight creaking noise from the bedsprings below me and lean backwards on my headboard, yawning loudly and stretching in that way that feels best in the morning.

"Well, thank God for that considering I've been doing it all week," Rachel chuckles and the sound is the most beautiful kind—aside from her singing, of course.

"You're the only person allowed to wake me up. And I really prefer you to the alarm clock," I say and gently rub at my eyes before fully opening them to take in my bedroom surroundings.

"I miss you," Rachel sighs, breathing into the phone.

"We just saw each other like, two days ago," I say, but knowing full well that the response is inadequate and masking the undeniable truth that I've missed her since she dropped me off at the corner of my street, Tuesday evening.

"Two days is far too long," she groans and I can practically see the pout formed upon her delicate lips.

"You're right. I miss you, too," I admit, unable to stand the idea of any frown on her face that I can't kiss away.

"Right answer," Rachel says, warmth fully returning to her voice, "Happy Thanksgiving, by the way."

I lean forward and grown, knowing full well that the now-apparent delicious scents wafting toward me from the kitchen below can be attributed to my dreadful Thanksgiving dinner. And even though my mother will cook up a delicious feast, even though I have so much recently to be thankful for, I still can't help but recognize the dread bubbling upwards inside of myself.

"_Shit_," I hiss, leaning my head forward into my hand to rub at my newly aching forehead, while still holding my phone to my ear with my other hand.

"You know, that's generally not the proper response to Thanksgiving wishes. Particularly from someone who, you know, you might feel a sense of appreciation towards—"

"It's my father," I spout bitterly, adding, "You know I'm thankful for you."

"Quinn, are you sure you can't reconsider my previous offer, the one that was presented to you by not only me but my fathers?" Rachel asks both anxiously and hopefully.

I take a second to consider my possibilities here. There's the option where I stay at home, eating a very silent, tension-filled dinner amongst a family who really shares nothing to be thankful for. At home I will have to deal with my father's rudeness and occasional outbursts, possibly even a wino for a mother. The thought alone makes me feel sick to my stomach, reminiscing about previous holidays and noting how they merely got gloomier over the years.

Now, with the Berrys, I imagine a totally different scene: Rachel dancing around the kitchen, delightfully singing along to whatever festive playlist she conjured up on her iPod. Leroy cooking what's sure to be a delectable meal, adding vegan options for his lovely daughter—Rachel helping every time she takes a break from her performance. Hiram trying to help but being shooed away by his two family members, into the family room just down the hall to watch whatever football game is playing in an effort to keep him from burning anything. I imagine them laughing and telling stories of previous years, even though they seem to become happier as life goes on—rather than more lifeless. I can even see myself fitting into the background somewhere, and in this image I'm smiling because for once I'm _happy_.

And although every fiber of my being is determined for me to just say _yes _and skip out on a hell-hole holiday for _once _in my life, there is a mother downstairs that I _am_ thankful for…and I need to stick around for her.

"I'm sure. I need to stay around here to help my mother cook and keep peace in the house. If I left, I'm not sure what would happen," I regrettably tell her, wishing wholeheartedly that I could be spending the holiday with her and her amazing fathers. "Please, tell your dads again how much I appreciate the invite and hope they have a great day."

"_Do you even know how badly I want to kiss away your anxiety right now_?" Rachel asks huskily and I feel it go straight to my stomach, which explodes into butterflies.

"Um," I say, unable to find words while I imagine kissing Rachel Berry again, perhaps this time with fewer clothes—wetness forms at my core and I bite my lip, wondering exactly when it was that I started becoming so aroused by mere thoughts. "God, I want to kiss you again, Rach."

Rachel sighs into the phone and we remain silent for a few moments, both back to our last kiss—in her car on Tuesday night. The way our mouths moved together, seamlessly, and Rachel took advantage of my lips parting to dart her tongue into my mouth, which I caressed with my own and moaned. I pulled at the nape of her neck, fueling the kiss and sucking on her lower lip…the way my breath hitched when her hand traveled between my thighs _up, up, up_—until she paused millimeters away from my throbbing center, realizing where she had been going and how mindlessly she went there. After that, we stopped doing _whatever _we were doing. Because, honestly? If that was making out, what the hell was I doing before Rachel?

"I need to see you," she whispers, desire palpable through every word, charging the statement with intensity.

"And you will. God, Rach, I need you too. But just not today..." I break our trance with disappointment and feel guilty, knowing I'm crushing both our dreams of spending a happy holiday together.

Rachel lets out a loud huff before asking grumpily, "Will you at least _text_ me?"

I laugh while nodding, even though she can't see it, "Between every course, Berry."

* * *

Turns out _between every course _is a bit farther off than I originally had thought, considering that after I showered and put on a suitable dress for the holiday my mother was still rolling homemade mini-hotdogs for snacking.

"Oh, Quinn! Happy Thanksgiving!" my mother shouts excitedly, wiping her flour-stained hands on a dishtowel and wrapping them around me for a tight hug.

"Happy Thanksgiving, mom," I reply, warily searching for my father.

"He went out. Something to do with his whiskey supply being low. No matter," my mom answers my silent question and with a wave of her hand returns to the dough and humming.

"What can I help you with?" I ask, grabbing a celery stalk from off of the table and chewing on it, eyeing the precarious state of our kitchen.

My mother, God bless her, appears to be attempting everything at once. Stuffing related items are on the countertop to my left, while potatoes are left half-peeled to my right; green beans are strewn across the area next to the potatoes…at least she compromised on the cranberry sauce, which is sitting neatly in it's can in our pantry. The only thing is, where's the _turkey_?

"Uh, mom…where's the turkey?" I ask anxiously, hoping—no, _praying_ that she didn't forget it under the stress of all the other cooking to be done like that one year…

She rolls her eyes and points to the oven and I silently thank God before attacking the green beans, snapping off the ends and throwing them in a garbage pile.

My thoughts drift to Rachel, as they have for most days since that fateful day where she bumped into me in the hallway. I wonder what she's doing right now?

* * *

"Well, he's certainly starting early," I murmur, frowning towards my father, who has recently returned home with a fresh bottle of whiskey and just downed his first glass after merely grunting at me when he walked through the door. _Happy Thanksgiving to you too, asshole._

"Don't start today, Quinn. It's Thanksgiving," my mother warns me in a painfully quiet voice, finishing up the stuffing.

"I won't if _he _doesn't," I reply, anxiously watching him as he starts his second glass and mutters at the TV.

"Your father has been especially stressed at work," she says matter-of-factly while chopping celery.

"He works a _desk job_ at an Air Force base, how hard could his job _possibly _be?" I hiss, cautious not to speak so loud that he could overhear.

"Did you invite that Finn of yours to dinner tonight?" she asks, blatantly ignoring my disrespectful comments.

I resist the urge to snort loudly and merely state, "Finn and I are no longer dating."

"Really? Are you sure? Because you know Quinn, if you're dating someone new you can always bring him by the house," she says and I can't help but wonder what exactly she's implying here.

"Uh, mom, why are you assuming I'm dating someone new?" I bite my nail nervously and then stop when I imagine Santana smacking my hand away from my mouth.

"You're happier," she says simply and adds, "And you check your phone nonstop…like right now."

_Guilty_, I think, and laugh with her while I'm staring at my phone in the process of texting Rachel.

**Quinn**: I miss you.

"So, who's the lucky boy?" she asks, determined.

"There's no boy, ma," I respond, thinking about the curve of Rachel's hips and biting my lip. _Definitely no boy_.

A ding noise sounds in the kitchen, signifying that the mini hotdogs are done cooking in the toaster oven.

My mouth waters at the sight of them and I pick one up off of the pan, juggling the scalding hot snack between both hands before taking a tiny nibble off the end and sighing from deliciousness. _Yum_.

"Use a utensil, you're a girl not an animal," my father growls, appearing at the sight of edible food, unsteady on his feet.

_Tipsy already, father? That's what you get for drinking so much on an empty stomach._

He shoves a whole one in his mouth without flinching and there are two conclusions I've come to for this: 1) he's satan or 2) he's too drunk to feel the heat. Maybe it's a little bit of both.

"I guess that makes you an animal, then," I say firmly, without hesitation, and my mother gasps in fear.

The side of my face explodes in pain and I stagger backwards before regaining my balance and clutching at my burning hot cheek. My father is towering over me in all of his drunken glory, hand outstretched and wagging a finger at me—the same hand he just used to slap his own daughter.

"_Nobody _talks to me like that, you ungrateful girl. How am I supposed to be thankful today for anything when I ended up with a daughter like you?" he roars, stumbling forward and using the table to steady himself.

"Russell, please, how about you go sit down and I bring you a plate of these?" my mother asks in haste, putting a hand on his arm to placate him.

He yanks his arm out of her reach and grunts before wobbling back to his chair in front of the TV.

"Call me when dinner's ready," I tell my mom impassively before grabbing an ice pack out of the freezer and making my way to my bedroom, where I finally release the hot tears I had been holding in.

My phone buzzes and I have two new texts from Rachel:

**Rachel**: I miss you more!

**Rachel**: I'm singing Erasure's 'A Little Respect' and thinking of you :)

She manages to bring a smile to my face and the tears slow.

**Quinn**: I don't know what that is…

She responds seconds later.

**Rachel**: D.E.B.S.? Entertaining lesbian movie about spies…and…lesbians?

This reference is still completely going right over my head.

**Quinn**: I think you're forgetting that I avoided the lesbian culture altogether until you made me embrace it.

**Rachel**: I didn't make you embrace anything. You embraced ME of your own volition ;)

**Quinn**: It was your charm, obviously, that won me over.

**Rachel**: You're going to watch this movie with me and you're going to like it.

Embracing the lesbian culture, is that what I'm doing? Am I…a _lesbian_ now?

Despite my blatant feelings for Rachel, which continue to grow at a rapid rate, I still feel panic at the thought of identifying myself in that manner. I was raised to believe homosexuality is a sin, although I've also been raised to believe that God loves everyone. And now that I might be a…well, into Rachel…I find myself in a true state of cognitive dissonance.

Not to mention that the most popular girl in school just _can't _be a lesbian, can she? Could I really ever be 'out' with Rachel Berry and maintain the popularity I worked so damn hard to achieve after being _Lucy-Caboosey_?

I think this is what Santana would refer to as a classic case of _gay panic_.

* * *

My father is _trashed_. Like, high-school-kids-on-Faded-Friday trashed. And I'm spooning mashed potatoes into my mouth, trying to ignore his inability to lead a fork into his own instead of bouncing it off of his cheek multiple times in a row.

It's quiet, so quiet that I can hear everyone chewing. A wave of sadness comes over me because I know Rachel's dinner would be warm and lively, and how I long to be with her rather than sitting in the middle of this large dining room table—too large for the three of us, the expanse of which only visibly portraying the distance between us as a _family_.

"This damn turkey is dry," my father growls, swallowing his piece whole with what must be his sixth or seventh glass of whiskey.

"Maybe some more gravy would help. Quinn, please pass your father the gravy," my mother replies, asking me to help him.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes with ever ounce of strength I have, not-so-gently placing the gravy boat in front of him and watching it sputter bits of gravy all over that part of the table cloth. _Whoops_.

"So now you're worthless _and_ clumsy?" he asks, taking a sip of his drink and egging me on.

I do my best to ignore him, wondering what Harry Potter would do in this situation. Unfortunately, I'm remembering quite distinctly the _enflating_ of his rude aunt and I smirk unintentionally.

"You think this is funny, do you?" he asks, slamming his glass down on the table and motioning to stand up.

"Russell—please," my mother pleads, glancing anxiously back and forth between us.

"_You stay out of this, bitch_!" he shouts, tossing his chair backwards, letting it fall to the floor with a thud.

"Don't call her that!" I yell, anger pulsing through my veins and reminding me of the night that Rachel was almost attacked at Puck's house.

He charges towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders and roughly shaking me, "What do you think you're going to do about it?"

My mother runs over to us and tries to pry us apart, pleading with my asshole of a father to let me go. He shoves violently in her direction and she falls to the floor, clutching at her ankle in pain.

He's momentarily stunned by his actions, which gives me the opportunity to yank myself out of his grasp and lean down to inspect my mother's ankle.

"I'm okay," she whispers, wincing only slightly when she stands back up.

Seething, I announce, "I've had it, I'm leaving. We're not a family, we never were! My whole life I've spent walking on ice around this drunken asshole. I'm tired of it, I'm done."

"What did you just call me?" he shouts, anger rekindling.

"You're an asshole. And so help me God if you touch either of us again I will tell the police," I say, and when he hesitates to think I continue, "You think I'm kidding? _Try me_ and see how your perfect reputation holds after that phone call."

After a moment of thinking it over, he finally says, "Get out of my house."

"Gladly. Mom, please, _please _come with me," I beg to her in a whisper, holding both of her hands.

She pauses, and for a whole second I think that maybe she actually will—but then that second passes and she dejectedly shakes her head without any explanation.

"Fine, I'm out of here. I'll be back for my stuff," I say and charge out the front door with conviction, slamming it behind me.

* * *

"Quinn—_wait_—" Rachel breathes out, but her mouth is quickly again covered by my lips.

Being this close to her, running my hands up, under her shirt…it makes me lightheaded. I gently push her back onto her bed and climb on top of her, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. I smirk and lean back down to kiss her, moving my arms up to intertwine our fingers.

My tongue presses further into Rachel's mouth and her resounding moan makes me wet. She moves to sit up, accidentally grazing my center with her knee and a wave of pleasure washes over me.

"_Rach_," I hiss, biting down on the side of her neck and sucking lightly at the tender spot. Her hands trail up the front of my shirt, completely covering my breasts and gives them a light squeeze.

Red flags are popping up all over the place inside my head and my body continues to ignore them, wanting _so much more_ than this.

"Wait," she whispers against my lips, her breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. She leans her forehead against mine as we both catch our breath, eyes closed. With our bodies pressed together like this, all it would take is Rachel to shift her knee upwards about half an inch for me to lose my grip on reality.

"_I don't want to wait_," I proclaim, thrusting myself downwards and feeling a blazing intensity. I moan, loudly as Rachel's nails dig into my back, all pretenses of waiting behind us. She grinds upwards and I feel so much passion and pleasure in ways I never even conceived when she moans '_Quinn_' into my left ear, breathing heavily.

However, it's that loud moan that escapes her mouth that makes reality come crushing down on me. _Do I really want my first time to be rushed like this_?

As if sensing my thoughts based on my immediate freezing of movement, Rachel says huskily, "We don't have to…"

"I just, I just need a second," I tell her, carefully dislodging myself from in between her legs and sitting on the edge of the bed while trying to force the Rachel-induced haze out of my brain and collect my thoughts.

The flush on my cheeks is burning up and I fan myself with my hand, exhaling loudly.

"That's never happened to me before," I confess shamefully, fighting the tingling sensation in between my legs.

Rachel scoots up behind me and places her arms around my waist, holding me, and I lean back into her Rachel-vanilla scent. Unfortunately, it's making me dizzy all over again.

"I've never felt _that_ way before, Quinn," she whispers in my ear, head sitting on my shoulder.

I lean away and look over to her with wide eyes asking, "Never? Not even with…"

"Never," Rachel clarifies resolutely.

I lean back against her and hum in contentment.

"I want to kiss you again," I admit, placing both my hands on her thighs.

"I don't think that's the best idea at the moment," she replies, gently removing my hands and putting them back on my lap.

Who would have ever thought that it would be _Rachel _telling me to keep it in my pants. God, what has happened to me?

"How about you tell me what you're doing here and what's wrong," Rachel says, moving to my side and holding my hand, looking at me intensely.

"What's wrong is that my girlfriend won't freaking let me kiss her!" I yell in frustration, trying to sit in her lap again.

"Uh, girlfriend?" Rachel whispers, and it's barely even been said, but it's there and I certainly hear it.

I quickly stop my attempts of getting on top of her and change the subject.

"I'm moving out," I declare, ignoring the blush on Rachel's cheeks. _Girlfriend_.

"You're—wait, _what_?" Rachel asks, wearing a shocked expression.

"I'm leaving my house. I got into it with my poor excuse for a father and he—he's hurt my mom and me too many times. I wish she would have left with me," I confess painfully, thinking to my mother's dejected shake of the head and knowing how trapped she must feel.

"I think this is something your mom is going to have to figure out for herself. I think you leaving is a good first step. Where will you stay? What will you do financially? You're not even 18 yet, sweetheart," Rachel wonders, soothingly rubbing her hand up and down my back. "Do you want to stay here?"

I look at her and smile warmly, leaning in and kissing her tenderly on the lips. I sit back, keeping my eyes closed and wondering if Rachel's lips will ever _not _totally mystify me. "Rach, you're incredibly sweet but um…whatever _this _is, I don't think living together is a good idea. At least not right now, not with your parents and stuff…"

She chuckles and rubs the back of my hand with her thumb, "Quinn, you don't need to explain. But if you won't stay with me, where will you—_no_, really? Not Santana?"

I laugh and nod, "She's got plenty of room at her place and she's been dying to get me to leave home forever. I'm sure she'd be totally fine with me claiming my own guest room. I have money that I saved for a car and honestly? _Russell _never gave me a dime, anyway. I think I'll he happier than ever living without him." What I don't voice is how sad I'll be without my mom.

Rachel bites her tongue from sharing whatever she truly thought of the situation, preferring to run her fingers through my wavy locks, causing me to close my eyes at the sensation and hum lightly at the back of my throat. Clearly, she heard the unsaid words regardless.

"Are you hungry?" she whispers into my ear, still playing with my hair.

"I—" my phone buzzes at my side, "Hold that thought."

**Santana**: What are you doing for dinner?

**Me**: Um, I'm at Rachel's. I guess I'm going to eat here?

**Santana**: Bailing on the rents? Rock on!

**Me**: That reminds me, I'm moving in with you.

**Santana**: Good, that means as roommates you're required to invite me to dinner so I'm not alone. Turns out my parents couldn't make it home in time tonight and Brittany is in New York visiting her cousins. I'm not going to a fucking Boston Market or something.

"Oh, no," I hiss loudly and Rachel halts her motions in my hair.

"What? What's wrong?" she asks anxiously, immediately spinning me towards her.

**Santana**: Be there in twenty!

"_Santana's _joining us for Thanksgiving dinner," I groan, burying my face in Rachel's lap.

* * *

"At this time, I'd like for everyone to go around and say what they're most thankful for this year," Leroy says proudly from the head of the table.

Rachel and I exchange glances, smirking and blushing when we look away from one another.

I am without a doubt most thankful for her. Hands down.

"Jeez daddy, no need to be so formal," Rachel says, giggling.

"Ugh, okay, I'll go first. Let's see…I think I'm most thankful for a _special _blonde in my life," Santana says, winking at me.

Hiram and Leroy clear their throats and Rachel's jaw unhinges, wondering if Santana was implying exactly what everyone thinks she was. Except me, who places my head in my hands and wonders exactly _why _this had to be happening.

"I'd just like to say that she's talking about her _girlfriend_, Brittany, and not me _in any way_," I rush to clarify to everyone, shooting Santana a death glare and hissing, "_Take this seriously_!"

"Okay, okay. Honestly? Right now I'm just grateful to be with a family on Thanksgiving," Santana confesses, shrugging, but unable to hide a faint blush from embarrassment.

"We're happy to have you," Leroy responds sincerely with a warm smile that burns straight through Santana's cold exterior.

"Uh, okay, who's next?" she asks, shaking off the embarrassment and going clockwise, "Q?"

"I'm thankful for…" I pause, making eye contact with Rachel and watching the blush grow on her cheeks, "Rachel. I'm thankful for Rachel."

"_No surprise there_," Santana mumbles, rolling her eyes and I kick her under the table.

"I'm thankful for two wonderful dads who always support me. And of course I'm grateful for you, Quinn," Rachel says, ignoring Santana's gagging gestures.

Hiram and Leroy both say that they're thankful for family and new family friends, as well as the roof over our heads and food in front of us.

"Can we eat now?" Santana asks and I'm truly mortified.

"I'm sorry about her," I tell the Berry men and they chuckle before telling Santana that it was, in fact, okay to eat now.

* * *

Dinner was just as I had imagined it: filled with laughter, joy, stories of past holidays and most of all, happiness. We passed each dish around to one another, with Rachel giving me an extra serving of her special mashed potatoes before passing it along. Santana quickly moved on to second and third helpings, unable to contain herself from sharing _just how amazing _Leroy's cooking is. When Hiram told a particular story of seven-year-old Rachel running around the neighborhood at midnight singing _The Lion King's _'Can You Feel The Love Tonight', Santana and Leroy laughed so hard they started to cry. I chuckled, but mostly I loved to watch Rachel shout at her father in embarrassment.

Most notably of all, Santana and I made eye contact during a new story from Leroy and we shared the same joy, knowing that this was the first time we could ever say we experienced a holiday filled with something ours were sorely lacking: _family_.

* * *

"Quinn, would you stop sneaking Rachel money under the table? For the love of God, _we all see you doing it_!" Hiram yells, grabbing a fistful of Rachel's Monopoly money and tossing it back in my direction.

"You're just mad because you're losing," Santana states, happily raking in cash from landing on free parking for the fourth time.

Rachel shifts her hand over to grasp mine, intertwining our fingers under the table. Who cares about Monopoly? I'm the richest girl in the world, right now. I run my thumb over the back of her hand and distinctly hear her hum in delight.

"I'm thinking it's time for a break," Leroy says, standing up and stretching his back from sitting on the floor in front of the family room coffee table.

"No way," Santana says, grinning greedily as she places another hotel on one of her _many _places.

"Too bad, then. I guess you won't be eating any dessert," he says, narrowing his eyes and smirking in her direction.

Sure enough, Santana stiffens and slowly places the money down in front of the board, causing laughter to bubble up and erupt out of all of us.

Rachel leads me into the kitchen, still holding my hand. Leroy gives me a quirk of his eyebrow but makes no comment. All I can truly hope for is that Santana is too busy eating all of her favorite things to point it out and make a spectacle of it. Rach gently slides a piece of her pumpkin pie onto a dish for me, as well as placing a few vegan chocolate chip cookies on the side.

"Right now, I'm thankful Santana didn't get all of the cookies," I whisper, hoping the cookie monster herself didn't overhear me.

"Not yet I didn't," she comments, ears like a damn dog.

I break the cookie into two and hold it out for her to take a bite of. She gently bites into the piece, licking her lips and winking at me. I would have missed the gesture if she didn't force me to snap out of gazing at her lips.

Rachel beams at me, silently telling me that she couldn't be happier. With a squeeze of her hand I let her know that the feeling is mutual.

* * *

"_There is a secret test, hidden within the SAT. This test does not measure a student's aptitude in reading, writing, and arithmetic; it measures a student's innate ability to lie, cheat, fight, and kill. Those who score well are recruited into a secret para-military academy. Some call them seductress, some call them spies—fools call them innocent. They call themselves, D.E.B.S."_

Unable to contain myself, I snort loudly, and Rachel removes her arm from around me with a frown.

"Oh, come on! You can't be serious. A 'secret para-military academy' filled with recruits based solely on scores from a _hidden _test in the SAT?" I scoff, trying to pull Rachel's determined arm back around me and failing dismally.

"Will you two stop having a lover's spat? I'm _trying _to enjoy myself some lesbian action," Santana says from the floor, slamming a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

"Quinn, this is _supposed _to be funny. It's like, a lesbian romantic comedy wrapped up in a parody of all action movies ever," Rachel explains fervently.

"Okay, okay. Can I please have your arm back now?" I beg and Rachel relents, placing her arm back around me as I snuggle warmly into her side, putting my legs up on the couch next to us.

"You're gonna have to be more open-minded. Any girl of Rachel Berry's has to be knowledgeable about lesbian cinema," Rachel says into my hair, matter-of-factly.

And it's like someone dumped an ice bucket all over my parade. I stiffen, _Rachel Berry's_ _girl_.

Fortunately Rachel doesn't seem to notice when she announces, "Hold that thought, I have to use the restroom. I'll be right back," and kisses me on the forehead before leaving me alone to my terrified thoughts.

Santana slows her popcorn eating before coming to a full stop, sniffing into the air a few times before saying, "I smell the distinct scent of…gay panic."

She rapidly whips her head around at me and says, "_You_! Tell me what's wrong."

"Santana, that's ridiculous. How could you possibly smell what I'm feeling right now?" I ask incredulously.

"A real lesbian never shares her secrets," she says proudly before joining me on the couch.

"S, not right now. Rachel will be back any second—"

"It's Berry, right? You're freaking out because you're finally stepping up on your relationship with her and you're worried about the consequences," she says, nodding her head at me.

"I mean, how could I not? A few months ago I was a totally different person—_not _that I miss that girl, but now I don't even know who am I and…God, am I Quinn Fabray the lesbian now?" I all but rush out, clearly panicked and biting my nails, which Santana quickly swats away from my mouth.

"Who knows…but more importantly, who _cares_? Quinn, you're so fucking scary you could be Quinn the _Care bear _and everyone would still bend to your will. Who cares if you're gay or straight—who really fucking gives a shit if you're dating Rachel Berry? Ninety percent of the kids at our school are going to remain faceless nobodies in Lima for the rest of our lives. You're special, Rachel's special, and you're really fucking special together. You might get shit for it when you come out, but that doesn't even have to be _right now_. The only thing you _need _to be doing right now is talking to Berry about how you're really feeling," she declares passionately, blowing me away.

God, Santana being wise? What a mindfuck.

"Jesus, S, since when are you so _right _all the damn time? It's getting really annoying," I reply, with the hint of a smile across my lips and shoving her playfully.

"I'm a genius, I know," she says, grinning, and regaining her prior position on the floor before shouting, "BERRY! Did you fall asleep on the toilet? Get back in here and play the movie!"

Mortified doesn't even begin to cover the expression that flashes across my face while I bury my head in my hands.

Rachel returns abnormally fast, wearing a light blush on her face and not-entirely meeting my eyes. I watch her carefully as she takes her seat next to me, giving me a tight smile and placing her arm back around me, resuming the movie.

* * *

"You heard everything, didn't you?" I ask rhetorically, taking a seat beside her on her bed and intertwining our fingers, memorizing every line, freckle and vein. Rachel nods, wearing a frown and furrowed eyebrows.

"I really love your hands," I whisper. She shrugs, but looks at me cautiously.

"Rachel, I'm scared," I confess in a low voice, choosing to stare at her hands.

"I gathered from your conversation. I wasn't trying to spy, I just accidentally overheard from outside the door. It seemed like an intense discussion and I didn't want to interrupt," she replies, guiltily.

"You don't have to explain, Rach. I'm glad you heard because, well, now you know. Plus, you heard Santana's awesome defense which I couldn't repeat from memory if I tried," I respond, triggering a small smile to appear on Rachel's lips before she asks, "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because—because I just got you, and I thought that maybe if you knew I wasn't ready to come out to the world—"

"Quinn, I know what I'm getting myself into. I didn't exactly see you wearing rainbow t-shirts that proclaim '_Out and Proud_!'" Rachel says, now rubbing the back of my hand.

"You're totally comfortable with yourself and I'm just figuring out now what I am. If I am a _you-know-what_," I finish lamely, shaking my head in embarrassment.

"I think a good first step would be being able to actually say the world 'lesbian'. And honestly I'm okay with this being a secret for now, as long as, well, we're exclusive and all," Rachel turns red, but looks at me intensely.

The nervousness behind it, the uncertainty—it triggers something deep inside of me and I have an overwhelming need to make Rachel _know_, for her to be sure. And so I place my hands on either side of her face, gently stroking her cheeks when I choke out, "God, Rach, don't you know there hasn't ever been anyone but you?"

A response isn't needed because her lips quickly capture mine, eliciting a gasp from my mouth, before I melt into the kiss and _Rachel _and yeah, I really understand what she's saying.

* * *

"So you're my girlfriend, then?" I ask her anxiously, shivering on her doorstep while Santana honks at me loudly from her car. "_Santana, I will be right there_!" I shout at her, but she continues to honk regardless and I roll my eyes.

"I really hope the neighbors are all too drunk to care," Rachel says, thoughtfully.

"Um, girlfriend?" I repeat, nervously.

"No," Rachel states, still staring absently out at Santana's Camaro.

I panic, quickly asking, "_No_? What do you mean _no_?"

"I mean no," she says, adding with a smirk, "You never asked—and don't think about asking me here, Fabray. I want something special."

With that, she kisses me quickly on the lips and leaves me frozen to the spot when the door shuts in my face. Eventually, Santana's horn snaps me out of my gaze and I walk over to her car, jaw unhinged and mouthing wordlessly.

"Q—you okay?" Santana asks, car already pulling away from the car.

"Rachel is making me ask her out, _as if I know anything about that_!" I hiss, hating my life.

"Wow, you make a pretty awful lesbian, don't you?" she replies, chuckling from her seat.

"Just drive, asshole," I tell her, shaking my head.

"Uh, I think you mean _sister_, now that we're living together and all," she says, grinning from ear to ear and I groan loudly and she adds, "So that's _sister _asshole to you, Fabray."

"That just makes you sound like a nun. And frankly, I think you would trigger the apocalypse if you were to step foot inside of a convent."

* * *

"Pick a room, Q, you know where they are," Santana says with a wave of her hand at the top of the steps, before stopping and saying, "Oh, but I probably wouldn't go down to the East Wing alone. Nobody lives down there and even though the house keepers keep it clean, it's still creepy as fuck."

"Uh, thanks for the tip," I say, genuinely, because after watching that _Paranormal Activity _crap with Rachel I don't really think I can handle it.

Walking down the hall, there are so many things to take in. Santana never gives anyone a real tour because the only rooms that really matter are hers and the kitchen. Beautiful art in bold frames are hanging every couple of feet that must be worth a small fortune, fabrics in deep purples and golds, walls the colors of sandy beaches—making the house feel very royal and foreign, columns placed at every juncture…I stop at an open door, looking in to see a completely empty room the size of the lower-level of my house aside from a king size bed placed directly in the middle.

_This one is very…move-in-ready_.

But more than that, when I look out one of the windows and see the view of the trees on a hill, it reminds me of Rachel and our picnic date that day. In fact, judging by where Santana's house is in relation to Rachel's…it's quite possible that these are the same trees.

The thought warms me to the core and I just know this is my room.

I sit down on the bed and smile when Santana yells something in Spanish down the hall…_my room_.

I know I have a lot of stuff to pack up at my own house, which will involve taping Santana's mouth shut so she doesn't set my father off—but right now, I think I'll take a nap.

"_Quinn, get over here now! The neighbor's kids are in the front yard again running around in my mother's flowerbeds and pissing off the staff!_"

I guess I'll just have to nap later.

And as I walk into Santana's room while she's determinedly putting on a frightening hockey mask—why the hell does she even have that?—to scare the kids away, I know that it will be totally worth staying awake _for this_.

* * *

**A/N: Props to whoever got my psych 'cognitive dissonance' reference.**

**Regionals next!**


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